


Streets of Philadelphia

by OzQueen



Category: Cold Case
Genre: Abduction, Attempted Murder, Crime, Drama, Episode Related, Exhaustion, F/M, Friendship, Frustration, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Murder, Nightmares, Police, Relationship(s), Trapped, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-12
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lilly is pushed beyond the brink of exhaustion and it leads to devastating consequences. Set during "The Road" with references to "Stalker" and "The Woods".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Cold Case fans! This is my first multi-chapter Cold Case fic. I'm a little nervous about it. ;-)
> 
> It's based on the episode "The Road" and there are references to "Stalker" as well. I'm hoping it hasn't all been done too many times before. I'm not very familiar with the works in this fandom yet! I'll have to spend some time catching up. :)
> 
> The title is taken from the Bruce Springsteen song of the same name - and I know the song has a completely different meaning to the one I'll be presenting, but I couldn't help but feel the lyrics suited what I'm going to attempt here. :)
> 
> The first two or three chapters will follow "The Road" quite closely, but after that I'll change it and take it in a completely different direction. There are just a few things I want to set up, first.
> 
> Anyway, here we go. I hope you like it.

_I was bruised and battered_

 _I couldn't tell what I felt_

 _I was unrecognisable to myself_

 _I saw my reflection in a window_

 _I didn't know my own face_

 _Oh brother, are you gonna leave me_

 _Wastin' away_

 _On the streets of Philadelphia_

 _  
_

xXx

 

Lilly stretches her arms over her head, stifling a yawn as Vera squints at the laptop he's unfolded and placed on the desk in front of her.

"You need a lamp on?" she asks eventually.

He shoots her a look. "I got it."

She smirks and takes a sip of cold coffee that's been sitting on her desk far too long. She grimaces and pushes the empty mug away as Stillman approaches, looking unusually restless.

"Got it, Nick?"

"Yeah."

The video starts, then pauses for a few seconds before it begins to roll smoothly, a man's voice sounding tinny and nasal as it's forced through the speakers of the notebook computer.

"Scotty, come take a look at this video." Stillman motions towards the laptop Vera is still frowning at, the image breaking into pixels for a moment. The lieutenant stands with his hands on his hips as his team gathers around, all of them leaning in to watch a man in an orange jumpsuit speaking to the camera.

"This a new case?" Scotty asks, setting his coffee aside.

"Sent up by the deputy sheriff in Ripley, West Virginia," Vera says, looking down at the jagged scrawl on his notepad. "This guy was picked up for an illegal turn. Turns out the car's stolen and he had a bunch of fake license plates in the trunk. Some of 'em point back to the scene of a woman's abduction last August. Possible homicide."

Scotty breathes a soft sigh and moves closer to Lilly, who is trying hard to force some focus through the fog of exhaustion that is currently clouding her mind. An hour or two of sleep a night isn't enough to keep her here this late, in the dark. For a moment her eyes flash over to the door of the interrogation room, but Scotty accidently nudges her as he moves in, shifting her attention again.

Lilly can feel the warmth of him close to her cheek as he leans over her shoulder to inspect the video, his tie draping down to brush the side of her arm. She lets her mind wander a little further, daydreams and musings easier upon her than concentration and facts.

She uses her peripheral vision to watch him, but he doesn't look her way. He's completely focused on the man on the screen in front of him, a slight frown on his face, his jaw tight as he recognises the suspect and the nature of the accusations against him.

Lilly switches her attention back to the screen, her skin prickling slightly.

"I really don't remember... If you say I was there, I guess I was," the man says innocently, shrugging slightly. "Her fiancé must be real broken up." He blinks rapidly and then gives a small smile. "Bet he misses her."

"Son of a bitch," Scotty mutters, his fingers clenching slightly on the edge of the desk. Lilly glances down at his hand and then back to the screen again, unable to focus on the facts of the case with someone leaning so close to her like that.

"We need someone to take a drive and bring him back here," Stillman says, locking eyes with Lilly.

She gives a slight nod, immediately volunteering. "I'll go."

Though she'd been aching to leave for home, she immediately recognises an excuse to stay out of bed, away from the dark and threatening shadows that lurk during the silence of the night. Away from the nightmares that haunt her even as she lies awake in bed.

"Fancy some company as you're takin' that drive?" Scotty asks, turning to her a little. His breath brushes the curve of her ear and she digs her nails into her palm to stop a shiver racing down her spine. If anything, _this_ reaction and _these_ thoughts should tell her she's absolutely too tired to function. Scotty Valens should not cause shivers or wandering attention.

"Yeah," she says, standing and stepping away from him; clear and easy to breathe. "Let's go."

xXx

Scotty sorts notes in the passenger seat, reading paragraphs aloud to Lilly as she drives, her face pale and blue in the light being cast from the dials on the dashboard.

"Real prize, this guy," he murmurs, tilting the page slightly to catch the light from the clock. It reads just after nine, but it feels so much later.

Lilly stifles another yawn.

"Brenda MacDowell goes missing from her own engagement party after this guy lures her outside. He breaks into her car, turns the lights on and then calls the plates into the restaurant. Brenda goes out to turn the lights off and he jumps her."

Lilly shifts uncomfortably. "Not just a snatch and run then. He thought about it."

"It says here presumed homicide, but a body has ever been found. There was a ribbon bouquet left at the scene, splashed with blood – but there were no DNA matches." He flicks the page and his eyebrows rise in surprise. "Not even Brenda's."

"Maybe this John Smith guy can help us out with that," Lilly says dryly.

Scotty scoffs and leans his head back against the seat. "Yeah. John Smith – real original."

Lilly gives him a quick grin.

He smiles back at her and nods down at the papers in his lap. "They're tryin' to get a match from one of his cigarettes. Even if the saliva matches the blood sample, it won't be enough. We need a confession."

She gives a weary motion with her hand. "So we drive through the dark to get one."

"You okay to drive?"

"Yeah," she answers, glancing at her watch. "Nine o'clock on a Friday night. I was hoping to have better plans."

He can't help a short laugh. "What social life are you missin' out on?"

She just smiles and shakes her head. A glass of wine, a blanket, television and her cats. Hardly a social life, but a life she was looking forward to all the same.

For a moment she sees a vision of herself curled up tightly in her bed, keeping her eyes forced open and focused on the clock, willing the daylight to come so she can run through the motions of a new day and keep her mind busy and away from gunshots and shattering glass. Keep her thoughts away from the scroll and rattle of gurney wheels on linoleum and flashing fluorescents and voices that quiz her.

 _Is there anyone we can call for you, Lilly? Who do we contact? Who will want to know you're here?_

"Yeah," Scotty drawls, smiling at her silence.

"Well what were _you_ planning tonight?" she asks, blinking and gazing ahead with new concentration.

He shrugs and stretches, lifting his arms up behind the seat comfortably. She watches his shirt stretch and pull tight against his chest before she forces her eyes back to the road.

"Was gonna wash my hair," he says. "Eyebrow wax, pedicure..."

She laughs, loosening her grip on the wheel and settling back into her seat. "Not sure I needed to know that."

He grins. They're relaxed now – settled and committed to the hours they'll be spending together.

"You're still havin' trouble sleeping, aren't you?" he asks after a moment. He watches her hands tighten on the wheel again.

She swallows. "It's been a long week," she says. "All that paperwork that's been –"

"It ain't no paperwork, Lil," he says softly, but he doesn't force the subject any further.

She forces her foot down a little, watching the speed of the car increase on the dial in front of her. She can feel Scotty watching her.

After a moment he starts to read again – witness statements. His voice is a comfort that allows her to relax again and forget about why she's so desperate to keep busy and fend off the loneliness of sleep.

xXx

 _The gurney shakes when it hits a new set of doors, jolting Lilly and causing the hot pain in her shoulder to flare up again and throb down her arm. She feels hot and cold all at the same time, and her chest is wet with blood._

 _She vaguely wonders for a moment if it was Scotty's bullet. For a few dreadful seconds, the florescent lights racing overhead mirror the flash from the gun, and the sparkling shatter of glass that crashed to the floor of the observation room._

 _Gunshots have never sounded so loud._

 _Another set of doors – another thud as the paramedics push the doors with their hands, the rhythm of their pace disturbed again and the gurney shifting and jolting._

 _Lilly watches the lights flash by overhead. The corridor is never-ending. She is always going to be flying beneath these lights, the stiff linen on the trolley crackling in her ears and the blood wet on her chest. It's growing cold now, but the pain is hot, hot, hot, and she can feel sweat on her face._

 _Someone is talking to her. Her name rings loud in her ears and vibrates in her chest like everything is bass and thunderous._

" _Is there anyone you'd like us to call, Lilly?"_

 _She looks up at him. A paramedic. Friendly and sure. He smiles at her, calm and in control. He's telling her, without words, that she will be okay, though nobody knows that for sure._

 _Nobody knows that._

 _She thinks, but it's difficult to focus with all those lights running by. The wheels on the floor are so loud, now. She can hear them rattling alongside the heavy, quick footsteps of the hospital staff._

" _Do you want us to call somebody?" he asks again. "Your husband? A family member? Someone who will want to know you're here...?"_

 _She needs to tell him there's nobody, but she wants to tell him something different. She wants to tell him to call her mom._

 _She pleads silently: Call my mom._

 _But even if things had turned out differently and Mom was alive and breathing – she wouldn't show up. Would she? No._

 _And God knows where Christina had disappeared to this time._

 _There's no one._

" _Lilly – is there someone you'd like us to call for you?" the paramedic asks again._

 _She closes her eyes. There's no one._

xXx

Lilly parks carefully and switches the car off, listening to the engine tick as it cools.

"You ready for this?" Scotty asks quietly.

She nods determinedly. "Let's go get him."

"Lil..."

She turns and looks at him, annoyed when she sees concern on his face.

"I'm fine," she says quickly, before he can put forth a theory about her exhaustion. She knows he's dying to. She knows he wants to tell her she's being ridiculous and that she should get some sleep or she'll fall apart completely.

She gets out of the car before he ventures anything further. Before she has to admit his theories – although silent – are right.

Scotty drops coins into a vending machine as they wait for the sheriff to greet them. He hands Lilly a too-hot cup of coffee that tastes bitter and cheap. She drinks it quickly, relishing the uncomfortable burn on her tongue and her throat and praying that the hideous taste just means it's packed with caffeine.

"Ted Huffard." The voice is too cheerful for the ridiculous hour. As Lilly shakes the sheriff's hand, she realises that the arrival of the Philadelphia Homicide detectives has ensured Deputy Sheriff Huffard's night has ended.

John Smith will go to Philadelphia and Ted Huffard will go home to bed, his duty done. For now, at least.

"Lilly Rush – and my partner, Scotty Valens."

"Hey." Scotty shakes Huffard's hand and gives him a smile that looks both exhilarated and exhausted. Lilly watches with interest, not sure how he managed to convey such two different emotions at once.

"Here to pick up John Smith, huh?" The sheriff shakes his head slightly, a frown on his face. "Weird guy."

"How so?" Scotty asks as they follow Huffard up a deserted corridor.

Lilly can hear a fax machine whining somewhere, and a weary detective, stripped to his shirt and holsters, leans against an office wall, talking into his cell phone tiredly.

"Polite," Huffard says after a moment. "Real polite. Real nice guy, you'd think. Wouldn't have picked him for anything like this."

"Yeah, well, the evidence says otherwise," Scotty says dryly, clearly not about to give anyone any benefits of the doubt.

Huffard nods in agreement. "How long did the drive take?"

"Four hours or so," Scotty says, shooting Lilly a grin. "Detective Rush lives up to her name."

She opens her mouth and then closes it again, returning his grin and feeling stupidly pleased that he's including her in on a joke rather than berating her for the ridiculous speeds she subjected him to earlier.

Huffard chuckles. "Well, take your time goin' back. You're gonna want to talk to this guy. If he's hiding something, it'll take time and pressure for him to crack. He's calm. Spooky like."

Scotty's jaw tightens and that exhilarated look reaches his eyes again. Lilly recognises the pleasure of a new challenge and barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at him.

She turns to Huffard instead. "So where is he?"

Huffard looks at her for a long second before answering. "You folks sure you're okay to drive right on?" he asks.

Lilly settles a glare onto him. "Fine," she answers stiffly.

He nods and turns, waving them on. "He's out here. Kicked up a fuss when I put him in the cells. He's just sittin' here, real quiet..."

John Smith is sitting rigidly on an uncomfortable bench, handcuffed and shackled. He watches the approaching detectives with interest, smiling pleasantly at them as they draw near.

"Detectives here to see you, John," Huffard says. "Get up."

John Smith glances Lilly up and down.

"The man said get up," Scotty says, his voice hot and hard.

Lilly feels it creep along her skin and settle in her chest and she resists the urge to curl her arms around herself and look at her partner. She can't figure out why her exhaustion is leading her to such sensitive reactions to him.

 _Focus,_ she thinks to herself, her mind's voice sharp and hard. _You're awake. And you're working. Solve this. Find Brenda's body. Put this guy away. Think. Focus._

John Smith is smiling apologetically at Scotty. "These things make it hard to stand," he says, shuffling to his feet and motioning to the shackles.

"That's the general idea," Scotty answers. "Ain't meant to be comfortable for you."

John Smith's attention turns back to Lilly. There is a child-like curiosity on his face that makes her want to take a step away from him.

"I've never met a lady detective before," he says softly.

She eyes him off. He's an inch or two shorter than her, and built slight, like she is. But there's something wiry and sly about him that makes her glad he's handcuffed.

"Will you be interviewing me?" he asks pleasantly. He watches her without blinking. For a moment she considers him snakelike – hypnotic and dangerous.

"We want to know about Brenda MacDowell," she says, holding out Brenda's photograph in her fingers.

He doesn't even glance at it. He keeps his eyes on Lilly's and another quiet, pleasant smile spreads across his face.

"I told the sheriff I don't know that girl."

"Look at her," Lilly answers coldly.

 _Look at her. Look at your victim._

His smile fades a little and he frowns as he flicks his eyes to the photo. "Pretty girl," he says. Then, "Your fingers are trembling, detective."

Lilly glances at the photo in her hand and notices it's shaking in her grip. Caffeine. Exhaustion. Everything.

 _Shit._

She draws the photo back and tucks it carefully into the folder. "Let's go for a drive, John."

John Smith ignores Scotty as he grips the back of his collar and urges him forward. His eyes stay on Lilly as he's forced past her.

"Yes," he says softly, "Let's."

xXx


	2. Talk

"Lil..."

Lilly looks up at Scotty irritably and he resists the urge to mirror her glare. Instead, he tries to keep a patient look on his face. He's starting to worry. She looks dreadful – grey and greasy with caffeine, and a sweat that's come from what he believes is a _serious_ lack of sleep.

"Let me drive," he requests, holding his palm out.

John Smith is sitting in the back seat of the car, watching them through the window. Scotty pointedly turns his back on him, blocking his view of Lilly, annoyed and uncomfortable with the unblinking attention the suspect is giving his partner.

Lilly glances back over his shoulder and Scotty knows John Smith is still watching, leaning forward to catch her eye.

"Lil," he says again, wriggling his fingers for the keys.

She sighs and reaches into her pocket, sorting the car keys from the keys to John Smith's shackles. She drops the latter back into her pocket and the keys to the car into Scotty's outstretched palm.

He can't help himself. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yes," she sighs wearily. "Why do you ask?"

"You look kinda pale," he answers. _Understatement_. "It's late." _Understatement, again._

"We gotta get back, Scotty," she says, shaking her head and motioning to the car. "Let's go."

She's right. There's no time to stop and rest. He mentally berates himself for letting her take the job in the first place – though five hours ago she certainly didn't look this awful. Tired, yeah, but not this walking wreck of a woman who looks like she'd fall apart with one hard puff of air against her skin.

John Smith watches them settle, catching Scotty's eye as the detective turns around to check out the back window as he reverses. A wire grill separates them, but for a moment Scotty thinks it may as well not be there at all. This guy pierces right through it, staring calmly back at him.

Scotty shifts the car into gear and steers the car onto the road, settling himself a little. He feels stiff and restless, like he could jump out of his skin at any moment. He blames the feeling on the solid four-hour drive he's just taken and the bitter coffee he's just consumed.

"Long drive, John," Lilly says after a while, breaking the silence.

Scotty listens to her. She's got her Detective's Voice on.

"Yes," John Smith agrees.

"Care to tell us what happened?"

"I made an illegal turn," John Smith says innocently.

Scotty can hear the smile in his voice and his skin crawls. "Cut the crap, John," he says impatiently. "Tell us about the night Brenda disappeared."

John Smith chuckles. "I told the sheriff I don't know that woman."

"You were driving a stolen car with false plates in the trunk," Lilly says, turning around to look at him through the wire grill. "The car was stolen two days before Brenda was taken and it was seen at the scene of the crime."

"If you say so, detective," John Smith answers serenely.

"Don't matter anyway," Scotty sighs softly. "Blood. DNA. We got enough."

John Smith sounds pleased when he talks again. "You're not taking the main road," he says softly. "You want me to talk."

Scotty glances at him in the mirror and John Smith smiles at him.

"You can't link me to this woman," he says quietly. "I was driving a stolen car and I made an illegal turn. I'm guilty of nothing else."

Lilly turns back to face the front again. Scotty can feel the waves of frustration coming off of her, though he's sure her face is doing nothing to give her emotions away. Lil's good at looking passive – usually it infuriates him, the way she keeps herself so locked away. He keeps his emotions just under the surface, easy to read and easy to ignite.

He knows her habits are better suited to the job they need to do. Getting frustrated with John Smith won't help the case at all.

"There's too much mounted up against you, John," Lilly says quietly, keeping her eyes focused on the road ahead. They've left the suburbs behind already and the road is quiet and dark.

"Is there?" John Smith asks pleasantly.

"We're giving you a chance to help yourself here," Lilly says. "If we talk to the DA, maybe we can cut you a deal."

Scotty keeps quiet as he drives them forward. No cars have passed by yet – it's 2am and the night is still and silent. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Lilly turns around in her seat again.

"Tell me," she says. Her voice is quiet but demanding. "Tell me what you did."

"Where are you from, detective?" John Smith asks. That infuriating smile is back on his face and in his voice again and Scotty can feel anger sitting at the base of his neck.

"I'm asking the questions," Lilly says after a moment.

Scotty knows the question has thrown her slightly and he glances at her, suddenly worried again that she's too tired for this. Too tired to be here with this guy so late.

He shouldn't have let her come. He's relieved – so relieved – that he came with her.

"I'm going to guess Kensington," John Smith says. "Am I right?"

"Answer the detective's question," Scotty snaps, glaring at him in the rear-view mirror.

John Smith glances at him and turns his attention back to Lilly. She stares back at him.

"Your blood was all over the ribbon bouquet Brenda had on her wrist," she says. "Explain that."

"I'm sure there's an explanation," he says, tilting his head slightly. Scotty sees him smile as he looks into the mirror again.

"How'd you do it, John?" Lilly asks, tilting her head back at him.

"There's no place to stop, along here," John Smith says, looking past her and through the windshield. "No gas stations or rest stops. No place to get a cup of coffee or go to the bathroom."

"You ain't gettin' any coffee," Scotty says softly. "And you can piss yourself, for all I care."

John Smith gives a soft laugh and settles back into his seat.

"Your blood at the scene," Lilly says. "Brenda fought back."

Scotty can't help a smirk. "She kicked your ass, I'll bet." He glances back over his shoulder. "Kicked. Your. Ass."

John Smith looks back at him rather wearily. "Do I look like a threat?" he asks. "Why would anyone fight me? Hm?"

Scotty smirks back at him again and focuses his eyes back on the road. He dims the headlights as a car approaches from the opposite direction.

"So you didn't use strength or physical power to overcome her," Lilly says, staring at him again. "You used your wits. Got her to trust you and approach you."

"Did I?" he asks with interest. "I find it intriguing, detective, that you set scenes like this with such little evidence. Your world must be fascinating – the way you invent pieces of the puzzle to make a full picture like that. I'm not sure how it all works."

Scotty tightens his hands on the wheel. He can feel his frustration building and it's all made worse by how late it is and how tired he's feeling.

Lilly turns to him, somehow sensing that his exhaustion is creeping up.

"Maybe we got the wrong guy," she whispers. "Don't think he's got what it takes to pull a fighting woman around and take her away."

Scotty glances back at her and shrugs. "Loser like that," he says softly. "Probably the only way he can get a girl."

John Smith laughs. "Don't underestimate me, detectives," he says. "Brenda did."

xXx

 _Brenda looks annoyed as she flicks her headlights to 'off', leaning into the car to make sure everything is okay._

 _He could attack her now. She's distracted and lost-looking. But anyone could do that. Anyone could hit her from behind. He wants her to approach him. He wants her to talk to him and trust him before he takes her away. He can feel the steady thrill of butterflies knocking against the walls of his stomach and he forces the feeling back._

" _Excuse me!" he calls. He is standing by the open bonnet of his car, his cell phone in his hand. He gives her a nervous smile, playing up to her own confidences and letting her think she's still in charge._

 _Which she is – for now._

" _I've picked up take-out for my wife," he explains, motioning towards the car. "She's six months along and craving chilli fries, but my car's just died. Would you mind if I used your cell phone? On top of everything else, my battery just ran down..." He gives her another awkward smile._

" _Oh..." She turns and motions back towards the building behind her. All lights and music and people's shadows against the windows. Safety._

" _You can use the phone in there," she says._

" _Well the thing is, I was just on the phone to triple A," he said. "I think I kinda need to be here at the car talking to them so I can figure out what's wrong..." He trails off and then gives her a wider smile, carefully planning the expression on his face. "Hey, you're Brenda MacDowell," he says. "We ran the marathon for Hart-Fitzgerald together. I work at the firm. John Smith."_

 _She feigns recognition. "Oh!" She takes a few steps towards him, slamming the door of her own car closed. "Right, John Smith... Hi."_

 _He laughs and shakes his head. "Don't worry about it," he says. "Forgettable name, forgettable face – and that's on top of the fact I work down in the basement. You're in litigation, right?"_

 _She smiles, looking guilty when he draws recognition to the fact she has no idea who he is. She's embarrassed, now._

" _That's right," she says. She hesitates for a moment and then holds her cell phone out. "Do you mind being quick?" she asks anxiously. "It's just that the party in there is for me..." She points back to the restaurant and gives a pleased grin. "I'm getting married."_

" _Oh, congratulations!" He takes the phone and dials the number to his dead cell phone, carefully covering the exposed screen with his finger as he holds the flip-phone to his ear. Covering the number he has dialled. "Getting married was the best decision I ever made," he said, smiling at Brenda and showing the thick gold band on his left hand._

 _She smiles, looking slightly flushed and excited. She glances back towards the restaurant._

" _Hi, John Smith again, we just got cut off," he says into the phone, talking over the top of the voicemail message telling him his own cell is switched off. "That's right, the '96 Accord." He rummages in his pocket and tosses the car keys at Brenda, leaning over the engine._

" _Would you mind trying the engine, Brenda?" he asks. "I might've fixed it." He smiles at her and leans over the engine again, reaching his hand down towards the dipstick as though he's fixing something important._

 _She hesitates for a moment and then turns slowly on her heel, sitting in the driver's seat._

 _Blocked by the shelter of the bonnet, he flips her cell phone closed and carefully withdraws the chloroform-soaked rag from his other pocket. When the car starts she leans around the side, still sitting in the seat._

" _It worked!" she cries, sounding pleased with herself._

" _Yeah," he says happily, sitting beside her in the passenger's seat. "It did."_

 _She punches him once on the nose as he's holding the cloth against her face. He can feel blood sliding down his chin, but he's in charge now. She's weakening. He watches her eyes sink closed, revelling in the terror he can see in them before she finally slumps against the seat. He keeps the cloth there for long moments afterwards, before he gets out again, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he slams the bonnet closed and shoves Brenda along the seat so he can drive her away._

xXx

Scotty listens in disbelief. He's unsure how anyone could be so unbelievably stupid – but he's seen it done before. People confessing to crimes just to prove they're capable of such things.

"So we got abduction, now," he says, staring into the rear-vision mirror. "Nice work, brains trust."

John Smith leans forward a little. Scotty can sense him close against the back of his neck, his face an inch or two off the wire mesh between them.

"Don't say I never gave you anything," he says softly.

 _Son of a bitch._ Scotty clenches his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. It's all a game to John Smith. He doesn't care. He knows he's caught. He's going to string them along and play a game for as long as he can.

No matter how many criminals he meets or how many horror stories he hears, Scotty's not sure he'll ever get used to the fucked-up games some people enjoy.

"It takes a certain someone to talk their way into abducting a victim," Lilly says. "Any ape can hold a gun, but you convinced Brenda to do all the hard work for you..."

"Exactly," John Smith says softly. "She looked at me and dismissed me as a threat." His voice changes slightly as he speaks only to Lilly, ignoring Scotty. "She saw the world in a certain way, detective. Like you. It makes a person weak and vulnerable."

Scotty glances to his partner. _Don't fall for it, Lil. Don't listen to him._

She keeps her eyes locked ahead on the road. For a moment, an approaching car lights up her face, pale and drawn.

Scotty is worried about her.

 _You shouldn't be here, Lil. You should be home in bed._ He fixes his eyes on the road ahead.

 _When all this is over, you and I are gonna talk._

xXx


	3. Fall

"Do you run, John?"

"No." He watches Lilly curiously as she half-turns in her seat again to talk to him.

"So what were you doing at the Hart-Fitzgerald marathon?" She gives him a small, knowing smile, and flips her phone open to ring the homicide office.

"Homicide."

"Jeffries, hey," she says softly, turning back to the front of the car.

"You got him, Lil?"

"Bringing him in," she answers. "Need you to do some checking into a marathon Brenda ran a couple of weeks before she died. Looks like John Smith was there."

"We'll call David, see if this can jog any new memories," Jeffries says. His voice fades out for a minute. "...a while?"

"What was that?" Lilly asks, pressing the phone to her ear with a frown.

"I said will you be a while?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll be in touch."

She breathes a slow, silent sigh as she snaps her phone shut and tucks it into her breast pocket. She feels shaky and exhausted. More than anything, she wants to lean her head against the window and sleep. Maybe in the car, with Scotty by her side, the nightmares will stay away and her sleep will be silent; free of echoing gun shots and shattering mirrors and flashing fluorescents.

"So come on, John, what's it all for?" Scotty asks, stretching a little and letting one hand drop from the wheel to his lap. He looks lazy and unconcerned.

Lilly turns to John Smith expectantly, but he's not looking at Scotty, despite the question coming from him. He's looking at her. She feels a thrill of ice race down her spine. She remembers the shivers Scotty's presence gave her earlier and blames her new anxiety and discomfort on her exhaustion. Like she blamed it earlier for the magnetic draw she felt to Valens.

"Did you keep Brenda?" she asked softly. "Or did you just take her away and kill her?"

"Is it sexual?" Scotty asks.

"Does everything have to be about sex?" John Smith asks, sounding vaguely disgusted. He shifts his attention to Lilly's partner. "Is that how you see the world? Physical and carnal?" He leans forward and Lilly sees Scotty grip the wheel with both hands again. She knows John Smith is making him just as uncomfortable as he's making her.

John Smith smiles, keeping his eyes locked on Scotty's in the rear-vision mirror. "You fuck your partner?" he asks softly.

Lilly sees Scotty flinch before she's even fully-registered the comment. It only takes him another split second to press his foot down on the brake and slide the car to a halt in a spray of gravel and dust on the side of the road.

Lilly grips the dashboard. "Scotty!" she cries, "Don't."

He's out of the car already, and the back door is opened and John Smith is hauled out by the back of his collar.

"Shit." Lilly scrambles out of the car. "Scotty!"

 _What the hell are you doing? Standing up for my character and dignity? You're going to get us both into trouble, you idiot..._

"Scotty!" she shouts at him. She runs around the front of the car, cutting through the glare of the headlights and grabbing Scotty's arm as he's launching another kick towards John Smith, who is bundled and squirming on the ground in his shackles.

He laughs quietly up at the sweating detective as Lilly pulls her partner away, her hands tight around his right arm as she uses her weight to pull him back. She can feel his muscles tense and tight through the thin material of his shirt.

"Don't be an idiot," she hisses at him. "This is how he works. He puts pressure on us like we put pressure on him, and you're snapping under it." She glares at him and holds her hand out. "Keys."

"Lil, no," he breathes, looking guilty and annoyed.

"Keys," she demands.

He waves towards the car – the keys still in the ignition.

"Get him back in," she mutters, brushing past him and settling in the driver's seat. She scoots it forward a little so she can reach the pedals comfortably.

Scotty is rough with John Smith as he hauls him up again. Lilly hears him swear at him, tossing him back into the backseat rather violently. She waits patiently for Scotty to settle in the passenger's seat beside her. He wipes a hand over his face and shakes his head slightly at her, indicating that she should drive on and ignore him for now.

She does, steering the car back onto the road. She can feel the heat coming off him. The night air is cold, but not bitterly so. Not cold enough to keep the heat and tension away from either of them. Sweat glows on Scotty's jaw as a car passes by, lighting their faces, which are equally tense and tired.

John Smith speaks up after a while, sounding pleased with himself. "I'll take that as a no," he says. "Though I don't think it's for lack of trying, am I right?"

"I won't stop him a second time, John," Lilly snaps, glaring at him in the mirror.

He laughs and settles back against the rear seat.

xXx

The clock has clicked past three thirty when Lilly's cell rings. She keeps her eyes ahead, focused on the two cars approaching.

"Get my phone, Scotty?" she asks softly, lifting her arm slightly. He reaches over and fumbles in her jacket pocket, his hand brushing her breast lightly. She feels his touch like a burn on bare skin.

"Valens," he says, holding Lilly's phone to her ear. "Yeah, she's drivin'."

The cars pass and Lilly flicks the headlights to high beam again, glancing back at John Smith. For the past hour he's refused to talk, and she blames Scotty for his silence – though she's not exactly angry about it.

Lilly strains to hear whoever it is Scotty is speaking to, but she can only hear the faint murmurings of a man's voice. It's either Stillman or Jeffries – Vera talks loud on the phone.

Scotty gives Lilly a look of surprise upon hearing something from the other end. She glances at him curiously and he flips her phone shut, slipping it inside his own pocket.

"They found Brenda," he says softly. He turns in his seat. "Hear that, Johnny boy? Found her."

"Brenda?" John Smith asks. "Oh yeah?"

"Down in a basement in Newark," Scotty says in disgust. "You kept her there for months." He turns to the front again, his shoulders moving slightly with tension as he readjusts himself. "Sick pervert."

"I told you before, it's not about sex," John Smith says, sounding annoyed. He clears his throat. "Can we open a window?"

"No," Scotty answers tersely.

"I'm not feeling very well," John Smith says, sounding increasingly whiny.

"Tough," Scotty replies.

Lilly glances in the mirror at him. "You didn't like your cell back in Ripley, either. Why don't you like being locked up, John?"

"Does anybody?" he asks wearily, turning to her.

She looks away again. "Is that why you locked Brenda up? Making her relive something you went through?"

She turns thoughts around and around in her mind, trying to keep ahead of him. Each thought is fuzzy and half-finished. She's too tired for this. For the first time since returning to work she fully doubts that she was ready. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be seeing shattering glass and gunfire in her head. She shouldn't be hearing those paramedics asking for her loved ones.

"Answer a question for me, first," John Smith says softly. "What gets you out of bed in the morning, detective?"

She tightens her fingers on the steering wheel and risks a glance in the mirror. He's staring straight back at her. She feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"There's no ring on your finger," he says softly. "Is there a boyfriend? No?" He leans forward and she feels his breath slide through the wire mesh and hit her neck. "Would anyone miss you if someone locked you away in a Newark basement?"

"Enough," Scotty snaps. He raps his fist on the wire mesh and Lilly jumps at the noise. Her heart is hammering in her chest and her palms are slippery against the steering wheel.

John Smith shifts uncomfortably. "I need air," he says.

"I don't give a fuck what you think you need," Scotty answers. "Give us some answers and maybe we'll let you feel a little air on your face." He turns and looks at him. "Cool breeze," he says softly. "Fresh air and space, huh? Is that what you want?"

Lilly swallows. All of a sudden _she_ wants the window down. She grips the wheel tightly and keeps her eyes on the road, eager to get back to Philly and get this night over with.

xXx

Scotty snaps the phone shut again. "Lil, pull over a moment," he says.

She looks at him in surprise, but pulls the car over at the next clear shoulder. He gets out and beckons for her to follow him.

"Can you leave a window down?" John Smith asks.

She slams the door and joins Scotty at the front of the car, the dimmed headlights still on as the car idles quietly. "What's up?"

"So get this," Scotty mutters, frowning slightly. "Place where Brenda's body was found had a TV set and a VCR – a video with a woman and a baby. Turns out the woman on the video went missing a couple of years back."

He swallows and pauses a moment to catch his thoughts. "The lab thinks the body is too decomposed to be Brenda's. Looks like it was this other woman; Colleen. Vera's been doin' some digging – turns out John Smith worked at the place that put the video together."

Lilly chews her lip, trying to wrap her tired mind around what Scotty was saying.

He continues in a low voice. "David – Brenda's fiancé – has a tape like that of Brenda. She was gonna show it at the engagement party. Guess who edited it."

Lilly glances towards the car and Scotty nods.

"Yeah," he says. "Turns out he's worked at five different editing places. And five different women have gone missing over the past five years, all from areas he's been known to work in."

"Shit." Lilly runs trembling fingers through her hair. "So we've got a serial killer."

"Yeah." Scotty rubs his jaw. "Vera said he collects 'em. Keeps 'em alive. Looked like Colleen was there for months."

Lilly looks up at him with wide eyes. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she can feel anxiety and terror and exhilaration and excitement all sweeping up inside her. "Brenda could still be alive," she breathes. "Think about it – he was rattled. It takes a lot of discipline, doing what he does. And he screwed up, taking a wrong turn. Brenda's still alive and she pissed him off enough to cause mistakes."

They both look through the car windshield and John Smith smiles back at them, his eyes locked on Lilly.

"Son of a bitch," Scotty mutters.

She shakes her head. "Don't let him get to you. We need him to talk, now. We need him to tell us where Brenda is. You start using him as a punching bag again and it won't help our chances."

He glances at her but doesn't say anything.

"Get him out of the car," she says softly. "Let's see if some fresh air will do him some good."

Scotty pulls John Smith out of the car and he leans against the bonnet with a sigh.

"Feeling better, John?" Lilly asks, all business again.

"Yes, thank you," he answers, looking up at the sky. "Smells like rain, don't you think?"

"Where's Brenda?" Scotty asks impatiently.

John Smith looks at him and smirks. "I thought you said you'd found her."

"We found one of your other victims," Lilly said in a hard voice. "You knew that all along. You lied."

"No," John Smith answers coldly. "I did not lie. You assumed it was Brenda. You created the piece of the puzzle and tried to force it to fit, detective."

Scotty glares at him. "Enough bullshit," he says. "Brenda's still alive, isn't she?"

John Smith smiles at him. "I suppose it's possible," he says.

Lilly cuts in front of Scotty and stands close to John Smith. She can see excitement and pleasure in his eyes and it sickens her to think he's still enjoying the suffering of his latest victim.

"Tell me where she is," she says steadily. "Tell me."

He glances at her up and down and locks his eyes on her again and smiles. "Ask nicely."

Lilly can hear Scotty shift impatiently behind her, a short sigh and the scuff of his shoe against gravel as he shifts his weight.

"Please," Lilly says, knowing there's no time for games. She keeps her eyes focused on John Smith, wide and hopeful. "Please tell me where Brenda is."

He gazes back at her, appearing to fully enjoy whatever emotion he's noting in her eyes at that particular moment. He smiles. "I'll show you," he whispers. "She's here. In the woods. Not far out of Philly. I'll direct you straight to her, detective." He leans forward, and she resists the urge to step away from him.

"She's here in the woods." He starts to laugh and Lilly takes two quick, stumbling steps back, treading on Scotty's feet.

He catches her and holds her up. "You okay?" he asks softly.

"Let's go," she says, finding her feet again.

"We should call for back up."

"Let's go." She slides back into the driver's seat and Scotty catches John Smith under the arm, half-dragging him back into the car.

xXx

Everything John Smith has described is right. The exit, the signposts, the gravel road, the fallen tree. Lilly's heart beats faster and faster as she realises she could find Brenda alive.

"Here," John Smith says softly. "Stop the car."

Lilly and Scotty meet at the front of the car and John Smith watches them through the windshield.

"I got no signal," Scotty says, shoving his phone back into the clip on his belt. "We should've called for back-up, Lil."

"He's hobbled, and we got guns," she says, shaking her head impatiently. "Brenda's waiting." She looks at him rather pleadingly and he sighs and walks back to the car to fetch John Smith from the backseat.

She breathes deeply for a moment, trying to force back the new waves of fear that have started creeping up on her.

 _The woods. Come play in the woods, Lilly Rush. We'll go hunting together._

Scotty is watching her carefully. She forces calm back onto her face and looks at him.

John Smith chuckles as Scotty prods him along. "I'm not sure why you're insisting upon being so rough," he says. "I can hardly run anywhere."

"Just makin' sure," Scotty says, shoving John Smith a little harder so he stumbles, the shackles rattling and glinting in the flashlight beams.

Lilly walks behind Scotty as he prods John Smith along, their flashlights bobbing and glancing across the leaf-littered ground. The smell of spring rain is in the air and the leaves overhead are sweet and whispering in the breeze.

Lilly keeps her eyes focused on the back of Scotty's neck, relieved that he came with her; relieved that he's displaying such short-tempered aggression and impatience because it hides her own nervousness and weariness. Underneath it all is hope and excitement.

 _Brenda's here._

"Over here," John Smith breathes excitedly. He is tripping and shuffling hurriedly, Scotty's hand on his collar the only thing keeping him upright at times.

There is a clearing. John Smith nods excitedly. "There," he breathes. "The well."

Scotty lets go of him and motions for Lil to keep her gun raised as he edges near. It's a sheet of rusted, patchy, corrugated iron, half-covering a deep black hole in the ground.

He moves the covering aside and shines his flashlight down into the well, leaning carefully over. "Brenda?" he calls.

Lilly's heart is pounding. She can feel sweat on her skin as she watches Scotty lean over the well. "Is she there?" she asks breathlessly.

"Brenda!" Scotty shouts down into the well, shining his flashlight around the edges. "Nothin'," he says in disgust. "Just a dried up old well. Ain't nothin' here."

Lilly hears it happen before her eyes register the fact John Smith has taken three quick, shuffling steps and has slammed his shoulder into the centre of Scotty's back.

She watches in horror as Scotty topples, a look of absolute terror on his face lit up by the quick flash of his gun as he squeezes the trigger as he falls.

It all flashes in front of her face – gunfire, lights, breaking glass, voices.

"Scotty!" She screams his name as though it'll save him. Her gun is heavy and forgotten in her hand.

Movement forces her gaze away from the hole in the ground and she realises, too late, that John Smith is in front of her. His head slams forward and she feels hot blood leak across her face as she falls to the ground, stunned. He presses his weight onto her, kicking her gun away into the leaves and rummaging through her pockets for the keys to the shackles.

She can hear her own ragged breath and the excited, whimpering glee John Smith is currently releasing to the night air, but not a sound is heard from the bottom of the well.

xXx


	4. Broken

Scotty realises it's his own groaning which has awoken him. His head feels split in two.

 _Why does everything hurt so bad?_

He can't seem to stop the noise moaning from within his chest. He keeps his eyes closed and tries to breathe deeply, but even that hurts. He can feel dirt against his face.

He exhales carefully and moves slowly. _Slowly._

He sits up, keeping his eyes closed to force back the dizziness that threatens to spin him back into unconsciousness. He can taste coppery blood.

He blinks twice, but it's pitch black. He may as well have kept his eyes closed. He lifts one hand to his forehead and feels dried blood and a lump the size of a small egg.

"Shit..." He frowns and runs his hands down his chest and his legs. No broken bones – but everything feels sore and bruised and he can't figure out why. For a moment he's terribly afraid.

He looks up and notes the faint circle of light far above him. Suddenly, it all comes rushing back. John Smith, Brenda, the well. Lilly.

 _Lil._

His breath gasps sharply inwards as he remembers his gun firing as he fell. He remembers Lilly's eyes widening and he can remember hearing her scream for him as he fell.

 _Oh, God. Oh, God, I shot Lil. I shot her._

He staggers to his feet, gagging and retching as his dizziness sweeps over him and his head throbs.

"Lil!" His voice his hoarse and rough. He coughs and chokes and tries again. "Rush!" He cranes his head upwards, gripping the rough stone walls with his hands. "Lilly!" he shouts.

He listens desperately, but he can't even hear the wind.

He drops to his knees and scrapes his hands over the dirt until he's located his gun and his flashlight.

The flashlight flickers, and the casing is cracked, but it works. He uses it to find his phone, but there's no signal.

His heart sinks as he realises Lilly's phone is still in his pocket.

"Shit," he whispers. He shines the torch up to the top of the well. He's not sure how deep it is – not too deep, all things considered. But it certainly isn't shallow.

"At least it's dry, Valens," he mutters. He tucks his flashlight into his belt and runs his fingers over the stone wall, using the crumbling stonework to haul himself up a couple of feet. He wedges the toe of his shoe into another rough pocket.

He keeps close to the wall, jamming his fingers tightly into rough crevices and hauling himself up. A third of the way up, he makes the mistake of looking towards the top. He overbalances and tumbles back down again, his skin tearing and scraping against the walls.

He lands with a soft cry and darkness creeps into the edges of his vision again before he blinks it back furiously and staggers to his feet again.

He forces the nausea back and starts to climb again. Sweat soaks him, and blood runs freely down his forehead into his eyes, stinging and burning. His left shoulder throbs uncomfortably and he knows that the fall has done its damage, even if it hasn't left him with any broken bones. He thanks his lucky stars and jams his fingers into the wall again, tearing his nails and ripping his skin open.

By the time he reaches the top, he's faint with exhaustion, and he can hear each beat of his heart in his ears. He pulls himself across the ground until he's lying flat in the dirt, well away from the deep hole in the ground.

"Lil?" He turns his head and gazes tiredly around the clearing.

There is no sign of a body, which he is thankful for. For the first time, he notices that the light is grey and pale. Dawn is breaking.

 _How long was I down there? How long did it take me to climb out?_

He starts to panic, his sweat-drenched shirt chilling him as it sticks to him. He scrambles to his feet, ignoring his body's painful protests.

He sweeps his flashlight over the ground. "Lil!"

He calls for her again and again, but he knows she's not there. For a moment he's ridiculously relieved – if she's not there, then maybe he _didn't_ shoot her. John Smith wouldn't have taken her away if she was alive...

 _He's taken her._

His relief disappears instantly. The beam of his flashlight sweeps across glittering metal and he kneels by John Smith's abandoned shackles, chills racing up his spine.

There is a dark stain of blood on the ground, sticky and brown.

 _Lil's hurt._

xXx

He's hurting, badly, and he's starting to worry about the injuries the fall has left him with. Straightening his back is almost impossible, so he walks with his shoulders hunched forward, limping as he hurries towards the road.

He holds both Lilly's phone and his own, staring down at them desperately as he scuffles along. The sun has crept up now and the shadows are growing long as the day lightens.

 _Shit, shit, shit._

He can't remember what time it was when he and Lil left the car. He can't figure out how long he was down in the well.

 _He's had her for hours. Oh, Lil..._

He stops, gasping for breath, and his phone suddenly shrills loudly as he blissfully finds a patch of the forest with a phone signal.

 _Stillman._

"Boss..." His voice is barely there, and he tries again, and again, but his breath is so desperate and deep and raw he can't get anything out except sobbing gasps.

"Scotty?" Stillman's voice is instant concern.

Lilly's phone beeps, indicating six unheard voice messages.

Scotty coughs and sinks to the ground miserably. "Boss... He's got Lil."

xXx

Stillman has driven so fast he's beaten the ambulance he sent ahead for Scotty.

Scotty looks up tiredly, slumped on the ground at the base of a large tree. He has no idea how much time has passed – but it must have been at least an hour. Probably more.

The ambulance pulls in behind Stillman's car as the lieutenant rushes towards Scotty, who hasn't moved from the exact position he described to Stillman over the phone.

"What happened, Scotty?" He kneels down and Scotty wants to cry.

He glances back to the paramedics. "I ain't goin' to hospital," he says softly.

Stillman puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Don't worry about that. Where's Lil?"

"Oh, shit..." Scotty runs a hand across his forehead, feeling tired and dizzy. He's finding it hard to remember the details. He prods gently at the lump on his forehead.

"She wouldn't wait," he says softly, only half-remembering it all but knowing that part, at least, was true. Lil wasn't going to wait. "Brenda's still alive. He told us she was here." He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the tree, tears hot and close behind his eyelids as his guilt deepens. "She ain't right, boss. She ain't sleepin'."

"I know." Stillman's voice is grim and Scotty realises he's feeling just as guilty.

 _We knew she was all broken like that and we just let her convince us she was okay._

The paramedics kneel by Scotty, shining lights into his eyes and speaking to him.

He brushes them away, feeling irritated and restless. "I ain't goin' to hospital," he says firmly. "Just give me some damn painkillers."

"You're in bad shape, Scotty," Stillman says worriedly. He runs a hand over his head and Scotty can see sweat on him, despite the early morning chill in the air.

"He ain't gonna wait," Scotty says, sounding angrier than he meant to. "He's got Lil – he's taken her somewhere to stash away. We've gotta find her." He brushes the paramedics off again and staggers to his feet, stiff and aching, but able to stand. "She's not gonna be the next victim on his list," he says fiercely. "I'm gonna find her."

xXx

Lilly's mouth is dry, though she contributes that mostly to the fact she's unable to breathe through her nose. She wonders vaguely if it's broken, and is struck by a sudden superficial moment, worrying about how she'll look if it is.

 _I hope it's not crooked._

She closes her eyes again, feeling dizzy. The car seat is cold against her cheek – vinyl. One of her shoes is also missing and she tries to remember when it was she lost it. She comes to the conclusion she must have fought John Smith as he dragged her back to the car, though she can't remember doing so.

 _Scotty._

She lets out a little moan of despair and bits her lip hard to stop a sob escaping. She has no idea how deep the well is. Deep down inside herself, she is convinced her partner is dead. She's convinced he's lying under the night sky with a broken neck, alone, and his skeleton will be found years later by another cold case detective and they'll try and piece together exactly what happened to him.

She's not aware she's sobbing until John Smith chuckles and looks back at her through the wire grill that separates the front seats from the back.

"You're not having a good day, are you, detective?" he asks softly.

She squeezes her eyes closed, too tired and grief-stricken to play his games.

 _I should sit up,_ she thinks numbly. _I should sit up and try to see where he's taking me. I should try and attract somebody's attention._

He's taken her gun, and her hands are cuffed behind her back with her own handcuffs, pulling and biting into her skin.

Now and then he starts to hum to himself, and he drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

 _Talk to him,_ she tells herself. _You have to get out of this yourself, Lilly, or you'll never get out of it at all. You have to talk to him. You have to play his game because it's the only game he'll let you play. It's the only game you can win or lose._

But she stays silent, and keeps her cheek pressed against the backseat of the car, her hands pressing against the small of her back, passive and still.

 _There's no point._

"Tell me, detective..." John Smith adjusts the mirror so he can watch her over the barrier between them. "What happened back there? In the woods? Why did you look so afraid?"

She turns her head away from him and closes her eyes.

He chuckles again and leans back in his seat. "It's okay," he says after a moment. "We have time to talk. We have plenty of time."

xXx

Scotty has been told not to take painkillers, regarding his head injury, but the spectacular bruising down the left side of his back is too painful to ignore, even in the depths of his guilt and exhaustion.

He crunches the painkillers between his teeth and gulps it all down with coffee as the team gathers in Stillman's office, taping maps and papers and photographs up on the windows.

"Let's say he wanted to get Lil hidden before daylight," Kat says, her voice faltering only slightly as she runs her hand over a map covering the route Scotty and Lilly took. "He had three hours or so to get her somewhere before the sun came up..."

Scotty watches, but barely listens as Miller continues to talk, drawing circles and crosses on the map she's taped up. His mind races. Information has been coming thick and fast and it seems every two minutes, someone else bursts into Stillman's office with a new sheet of paper and a new item of information to try and get their heads around.

It's become clear that Colleen Legarth slowly starved to death in her prison in Newark. Her body showed no obvious signs of physical trauma or abuse – and somehow, in a confusing and rather sick way, Scotty thinks that's _worse._ Because he doesn't understand why John Smith likes to lock women up and do nothing to them. He just takes them and stores them away and Scotty can't see a _reason_ for it.

It's different this time, and that frightens him again. Because John Smith can't stick to the same pattern, this time, without giving himself away.

Lil fought him. There were drag marks all over the place, marked out by little cones and tape as everything was photographed and examined. And one of her shoes, kicked away into the scrub. The sight of it had sent Scotty to vomit behind one of the larger trees, guilt and fear roiling up inside his stomach and his chest.

And the blood. Not much, but enough to convince him his bullet had flown wild and grazed her arm.

He forces himself to focus again, aware that Stillman is keeping a close eye on him and won't hesitate to apply further insistence to the argument Scotty should be in hospital, being thoroughly checked over to make sure he's okay.

Kat is standing back and staring at the map, looking upset and helpless as she realises the extent of the area they estimate Lilly could be in. And that's just if they're lucky.

Vera stumbles in, his tie so loose the knot is in the middle of his chest and his shirt sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up untidily. "More basements possibly used by John Smith," he says, holding up a sheet of paper and shaking it. "Nine of 'em."

"Nine?" Scotty asks, blinking. _Stay awake, Valens. Stay sharp. You gotta find Lil. Keep it together; for her._

"Only five women have been linked to John Smith," Jeffries says. "Lil could be in one of the other four basements."

Vera nods excitedly and manages to look a little smug. "Let's get out there and find her."

Scotty doesn't need to be told twice. _Hang on, Lil. I'm comin' for you._

xXx

In the grand scheme of things, Lilly should have deeper concerns. And she supposes she does, really, but as John Smith prods her forward, all she can think about is the blood crusted down her chin, and that maybe her nose is really crooked now, and that her missing shoe means her right sock is getting dirty.

Thinking about such ridiculous things means she's not thinking about Scotty, and that's a relief.

She trips and falls to her knees, scattering leaves and dirt as she struggles to get to her feet again. It's not easy with her hands cuffed behind her back.

She gives up and sits back on her heels, breathing quietly, her head hanging low. "Help me up," she says.

John Smith stands behind her. "Giving up so soon, detective?" he asks mildly. He pulls at the back of her collar and she staggers to her feet before he pushes her forward again.

 _Damn it, Rush, if you don't start talking to him you're not gonna get out of these woods at all. And what if Scotty's still alive, huh? No one's gonna find him down that well. You're all he's got._

Alarmed and excited by the sudden realisation that there is a chance Scotty could be okay, Lilly starts talking breathlessly.

"Have you got somewhere to keep me out here, John?" she asks, stumbling a little. "Or are you just bringing me out here to put a bullet in my head?"

He chuckles softly, apparently pleased that she is suddenly talking to him, and so brashly.

"I have somewhere," he says. "This is a special one, detective. And I'm well aware that I may not get another chance to bring someone here, so I'm giving it to you."

His words send chills up her spine. He genuinely sounds as though he is doing her a favour, donating this _special place_ to her.

 _A grave._

She hurriedly moves to speak again, forcing the thought of tombs and death back. "Brenda's dead, isn't she?" she asks.

 _So stupid of me, to think he'd leave his victim alive. So stupid of me to let him read me like that and use Brenda to manipulate me._

"She was alive three days ago," he answered mildly. "I doubt she's succumbed to the natural way of things just yet. Stop here."

She stops, and she can hear her heart thundering in her ears. "You starve them?" she asks softly.

"I doubt they notice," he answers, scraping his foot across the ground, disturbing leaves and twigs. "By the time I seal them in, they're barely alive as it is. All the hope is gone and it's just the science of things keeping them there."

Lilly feels tears spilling down her cheeks again and she's too exhausted to try and stop them. "You wait until they think nobody is coming for them," she says.

"That's right," he answers pleasantly. His foot scrapes harshly over metal, and he smiles. She watches him, half-thinking about running but knowing she'd barely take two steps before he caught her again. She's so tired she feels dizzy and disoriented – though she supposes that could also have come from the blow to the head.

He lifts a manhole cover, straining to shift its heavy weight. She thinks again about running, and dismisses the idea once more, reminding herself that, if nothing else, he has her gun.

There is a round, black hole in the ground. Terror hits Lilly hard in the stomach and before she realises it, she's babbling.

"Don't make me go down there," she says. "Please. I'll talk with you; I'll answer all of your questions. I'll talk about what gets me out of bed in the morning, I'll tell you about my childhood, I'll talk about my nightmares, just don't send me down there..." Her voice fades away in a wail and she sobs, afraid and embarrassed.

He watches her, his head tilted slightly to the side. "We will talk when you're inside," he said softly. "Hurry now, detective."

"No." She shakes her head desperately and backs away from the hole.

He sighs wearily and walks towards her. She sinks to her knees, pleading with him.

"Please," she begs, "Please don't keep me down there. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Please."

"Don't you like the woods?" he asks. "Or is it the dark you're so afraid of?"

He sounds so kindly and curious it causes her to shudder.

"Perhaps disappearing down a hole like this will help you feel a little closer to your partner and his fate," he says, smiling at her.

Something inside her breaks completely. She lifts her chin and screams loudly at him, one long, shrill note piercing the clear morning air. She lets her rage and grief and exhaustion pour out of her, and when she's run out of breath she sinks to the ground completely, panting and sobbing.

He drags her nearer the hole, and she kicks at him desperately but she's too weak to do anything but cause him annoyance.

"You had better brace yourself, detective," he says rather apologetically. "It's a bit of a drop."

He shoves her and she slides quickly beneath the surface and into the bunker, landing heavily in a crumpled heap twelve feet below him, her bones jarring and the wind rushing out of her lungs as she hits the dirt.

She squirms slightly, gingerly testing her limbs to make sure nothing is broken.

"Here are your keys, detective," John Smith says pleasantly.

She looks up and is almost hit in the face by her handcuff keys. She looks up at him again, desperate and unashamed of the pleading tone in her voice.

"Please don't lock me in the dark," she says.

"Ah," he says with a smile. "It _is_ the dark you're afraid of, then? Have you seen too many monsters, detective? Does the light keep them away?"

"Please don't leave me in the dark," she says again.

He tilts his head and smiles down at her, stretched out on his stomach with his chin resting on his hands. He looks almost nostalgic as he gazes down at her, and a lazy smile spreads across his face. "I'll leave you with the light," he says. "I won't put the cover back on, detective."

She nods up at him gratefully. "Thank you."

He seems pleased, being thanked, and she makes a note of it. He's exceptionally polite, too, and she silently urges herself to stay civil and not lose her temper with him again. She needs him to come back.

Talking her way out of here is her only option.

xXx


	5. Monsters

It's taking Lilly a ridiculously long time to get the handcuffs off. Now and then she gives up and stretches out, easing the strain in her back and her arms from twisting and turning and fumbling with the keys John Smith dropped down to her.

"Come on, Rush," she breathes, closing her eyes and feeling her way around the lock on the cuffs, which seems to be growing increasingly smaller.

The sun shines down through the circular opening above her, warm and comforting. She can feel it on the top of her head and she knows that somehow, it's nearing noon already and she _still_ doesn't have the damn handcuffs off and she's _still_ no closer to figuring out where she is.

She gives a sigh of relief as the ratchets spring apart and her handcuffs fall into the dirt. She clicks them back into the loop on her belt, out of habit more than anything else. She checks her watch, but the dial is smashed and the hands hang limp and useless.

She feels dizzy, but there's no time to stop and rest. She looks around but she can't see beyond the circle of light she's sitting in.

She's suddenly afraid to leave it. She's not sure how big this place is or what the shadows are hiding. What if someone else is down there and they've been watching her this whole time, breathing quietly and watching her struggle against the biting handcuffs around her wrists?

She can feel sweat on her skin. Her shirt is damp under her arms and against her back. She chews her lip for a moment, silently telling herself she's stupid for even thinking that there is something there in the dark beyond the safe warm circle she is sitting in.

 _There's nothing there._

Somehow that's just as scary as the thought of monsters lying in wait.

She draws in a small breath, panting slightly, before she lets her voice quiver out into the darkness. "Hello?"

There is no echo. Maybe she didn't speak loud enough. Or maybe there are things there in the darkness absorbing the sound and blocking it. Monsters.

She can hear her heart pounding wildly in her chest and in her head. Her blood thumps and throbs through her veins, hot and fast. She can feel it caked on her chin and on her neck and she can still taste it in the back of her throat, rough and red and dry.

Monsters.

George is waiting for her there in the dark. She knows it's impossible but at the same time she knows it's true, because this is a place kept specifically for her, and John Smith wants her to be afraid. John Smith has locked her down here with the monsters and they're hiding there in the dark just beyond the circle of sunlight she is clinging to.

 _You're being ridiculous. There's no one here._

"Hello?" She calls again, louder this time, but her voice still quivers and she can feel her fingers fluttering by her side as her nerves tingle and tighten.

She can imagine George sitting there in the dark, smirking to himself. He likes the dark. He hunts in the dark. He's watching her and he's waiting for her to stumble from the circle of light she's sitting in before he pounces. He's going to tear her apart and her blood will soak into the ground and clot in the shadows.

 _George Marks is dead. There's nothing there. Now move, Lilly. Move, now._

She sobs when she crawls out of the sun into the shadow, and she squeezes her eyes closed at the ridiculousness of it.

It's cooler away from the sun, but her breath is louder and her sobs increase as she crawls across the dirt slowly, her eyes squeezed tightly closed against the monsters clouding the darkness.

She feels so useless and beaten. She stops when she's a few feet away from the shaft of sunlight and she curls into a ball, shivering and shaking violently with fright and stress.

She can't force her thoughts into anything coherent. She simply huddles on the cold earth, breathing desperately and rubbing at her wet eyes with her fists, trying to calm herself. Now and then she starts to feel as though it's over and she can get up and explore her surroundings and be clinical and methodical and logical about it all, but then she remembers Scotty and she breaks down again.

She remembers the way his gun fired as he fell and how she froze at the sound and sight of it. She remembers seeing shattering glass and flashing fluorescents instead of John Smith coming for her.

She knows it's her fault.

She hopes it was quick, and that he felt no pain. She quivers at the possibility of him lying there broken and desperate, slowly dying and unable to get out of the well.

"Oh, God..." She sobs desperately and curls into a ball, impossibly small and pale in the dark shadows of the bunker.

xXx

Scotty is furious. He keeps his hands clenched under the table, knowing that losing his temper with these men is the worst thing he can possibly do. He needs to convince them to let him out and hunt for Lil.

Benson tightens his tie again and Scotty narrows his eyes. The inspector has loosened it six times and tightened it five and it's driving Scotty insane.

"Take us through it again," Benson says.

"No." Scotty's voice is sharp and swift. "I'm done with this." He stands to leave and the door of the interrogation room opens. Stillman is outlined in the doorway and for a moment Scotty's heart leaps.

 _They've found her._

Stillman closes the door again and paces towards Scotty, clapping one hand gently onto his shoulder and forcing him back into the chair, deflating his hope as quickly as it had come. "I think Detective Valens has been through this enough," he says, looking at Benson's reflection in the mirrored wall.

Inspector Benson loosens his tie again. "We need to get all of this straight," he says harshly. "This is a colossal fuck-up."

Parker agrees, grunting from his position in the corner. He's been leaning there for the duration of their time there, saying nothing and watching Benson shift from understanding friend to interrogator and complete asshole.

Scotty hates them both. He hates that they kept him there and questioned him while the others all ran out to find Lil. He hates that he's being treated like a suspect in a case and he hates that these two monsters aren't remotely interested in finding Lil.

 _Just tell us what happened so we can decide whether or not you should be suspended, Valens._

Scotty glances up at Stillman. "I'm done," he says.

Stillman tightens his fingers slightly on Scotty's shoulder, urging him to stay still. "You've got more than enough information," he says, nodding down to the sheets of paper Benson has scrawled upon. "Everything seems straight-forward to me."

"Straight-forward?" Benson splutters. "Two of your detectives played Renegade Cop, Stillman."

" _Lieutenant_ Stillman," he answers swiftly. His voice is soft and quick and Scotty feels it heavy in the air, adding to the weight on his shoulders.

"My detectives were in a communication black-spot and made the best judgement they could at the time," Stillman continues quietly. "If Brenda MacDowell had been down that well she'd be safe now. As it is, bones have been found."

Scotty's ears prick up and he feels an uneasy chill down his spine.

Benson's head snaps up. "Bones?"

"Someone was down there," Stillman answers. He releases the slight grip on Scotty's shoulder. "Go and get some coffee," he says softly.

Scotty scrambles from the table and wrenches the door open, escaping into the light and air of the bullpen.

He lets it slam shut behind him and he practically runs to Miller, who is taping more paper up to the glass walls of Stillman's office.

"Bones?" he asks.

She turns and runs her eyes over him. Her expression changes to one of wary concern and she opens her mouth before apparently thinking better of it, closing it again swiftly. She nods and motions to the photograph she has finished taping to the glass.

"Routine sweep of the scene revealed a couple of bones down the bottom of the well. Looks like you scraped 'em up when you were down there."

Scotty visibly shudders. "I never noticed. Any news on Lil?"

"No," she answers, her voice grim. "Still looking. Two more bodies in basements, three empty and unused. Still checking the others."

Scotty feels his stomach sinking. The odds are mounting up against them. "The bones down the well. Who is it?"

Miller gives a slight shrug. "Still waiting on that one."

Scotty runs a hand through his hair. He feels hyper-sensitive and dull at the same time, dead and alive, hot and cold.

"You should get some sleep," Miller says sternly.

"Later." He pours himself a coffee instead, gulping it down and praying it'll be enough to keep him running until the answers start coming in.

xXx

The light has tracked across the floor by the time Lilly pulls herself together. She staggers to her feet, feeling faint, and blinks fiercely in an effort to penetrate the darkness.

She can make out vague shapes and shadows and she carefully steps forward, exploring them with her fingertips, knowing the light will eventually fade altogether and she won't have anything.

There is a bed with musty blankets. She's not sure if they're damp or just cold. Either way, she pulls them from the bed and dumps them in the shrinking patch of light at the opposite end of the bunker.

There is a basin that sputters water from one faucet, and a toilet that gurgles and rumbles long after it has been flushed. She cleans her face, washing away the crusted blood and the salt from her tears, squinting at herself in the cloudy mirror hanging above the basin. To her relief, her nose looks normal, albeit a little swollen.

She continues her exploration. There is a hose hanging out of the wall above a square of spotty, mouldy tiles in the corner, and she grimaces as she realises it's a shower. She quickly decides she won't be using it.

There is a cupboard stocked with toiletries – a toothbrush still in its packet, toothpaste, rolls of toilet paper, feminine hygiene products and small bottles of shampoo.

Beneath the bed there is a pile of old children's comic books and another stack of blankets, stiff and crusty. She shoves them back against the wall and dusts her hands off before she experimentally tugs at the bed, hoping to drag it over to beneath the hole in the ceiling. Maybe if she can stand it on end she can climb out.

It is firmly bolted into the concrete wall, and the bolts and screws holding it there refuse to budge against her thin fingers. She tugs at them and twists them until her fingers are red and raw and trembling. She gives up and leans against the wall, light-headed and full of despair.

"Are you there, detective?"

The voice comes from nowhere and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She looks up at the hole above her and sees John Smith's smiling face. He is stretched out on the ground, his chin propped in his hands again.

She stands beneath him and looks up at him. "What time is it?" she asks.

He looks down at her in amusement. "Why do you want to know?"

"My watch is broken," she says. "I'd like to know how long I've been down here."

"You've been down there for almost eight hours," he says pleasantly. "It's mid-afternoon."

She scowls at his evasive answer, but doesn't push any further. She's alarmed at how long it's been and how little she has achieved.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"No."

She hasn't been hungry for a long time. She forces herself to eat most days, but more often than not she simply forgets. Food is often the last thing on her mind.

John Smith tuts. "I have food here for you, if you would like it."

"No, thank you," she answers sharply, glaring up at him. "I'm not hungry."

He chuckles and shrugs. "Suit yourself. How do you like your accommodation?"

She shakes her head up at him. "I want to get out."

He chuckles and his eyes are bright and wide. "No."

"Why do you do this?" she asks, growing more and more frustrated. "Why do you keep them in places like this? And why those women? What was it about them?"

He gazes down at her and flicks a leaf idly from the forest floor, watching it float down until it lands at Lilly's feet.

"Including the detective, there are two sets of bones at the bottom of that well," he says after a moment.

Lilly's stomach lurches. "Brenda _was_ down there?" she asks, forcing her panic back. Maybe Scotty could be okay after all. Maybe Brenda _was_ down there and he's with her now and they're figuring out how they can escape.

"No," John Smith answers, cutting into her thoughts. "I don't know what her name was. I watched her drown. She'd fallen in and I found her." He smiles and Lilly watches his eyes cloud over slightly as he remembers. "She asked me to help her out. She was cold. Tired."

Lilly shivers involuntarily at the image he projects.

"I looked down at her and I watched her until she realised I wasn't going to help her. She gave up." He grins dreamily. "It was beautiful, detective. To watch all the hope and fight just fade out of her eyes. She gave up and she sank and drowned and drifted away into the dark. I knew it was because of me. I knew that I had been the cause of her final moment of destruction."

He looks down at her. "I searched for a long time, trying to find that look again," he said. "Animals don't have it. Animals have survival and instinct. They do not have hope or fear or choice."

Lilly disagrees, but she keeps silent. She can feel his voice crawling over her skin and weighing her down like chains. She tries to shake them off, knowing this is what he does. Knowing it's all part of his game.

"When I began to edit videos I noticed the only parts people wanted to keep were the parts of hope and happiness. The structured parts. The parts that made them feel happy and safe and wanted. The parts that made their lives look important and worthy." He sneers. "They were _nothing._ I watched those women on the videos and I turned their lives into happy chapters and lies. I cut out all the boring _nothingness_ and handed the tapes back to them and watched them believe their entire life was full of substance. It was _lies._ "

"So you wanted to fix that," Lilly answers coldly, looking up at him. "You hid those women away and waited until they realised how futile everything was."

He smiles. "I suppose so. Those women were so very useless without the one or two little things they believed kept them sane and real."

"So you think you take me away from my job and I'll give up?" Lilly asks harshly, looking up at him.

"Maybe," he answers serenely. "You don't look like you're doing very well down there, detective. You look unwell."

She scowls at him. "I'm fine."

He looks amused. "I'm glad," he says. "I hope you last longer than the others."

And with that, he disappears, and Lilly is left alone again, with only her thoughts and the shadows of the bunker for company.

xXx

Vera is breathless when he phones up to homicide. "We found Brenda."

Scotty's heart leaps. "She's okay?"

"Yeah. She needs to get to the hospital but Jeffries and I will get as much out of her as we can. See if John Smith talked about any other places he might've taken Lil."

"You've checked all the basements?" Scotty asks, his heart sinking.

"One left, but process of elimination tells us it's got Monica Capcot's body hidden in it."

Scotty pinches the bridge of his nose. "So he's got somewhere else, then. He's taken Lil somewhere he hasn't paid for."

"Looks like it." Vera hesitates for a moment and when he talks again his voice is gruff. "You okay?"

Scotty blinks in surprise. "Fine. Why?" he asks.

"No reason," Vera answers. "We'll call in later, after we speak to Brenda."

"Maybe I should come down," Scotty says.

"No need," Vera assures him, and he disconnects the call.

Scotty replaces the phone in its cradle quietly and rubs his hands over his face before he goes to find Stillman. "They found Brenda," he says, standing in the doorway of Stillman's office, which is almost completely covered in maps and documents.

Stillman stands by his desk with his hands on his hips and he nods, apparently already aware. Scotty forces back a wave of frustration and anger.

"I can't just sit here, boss," he says after a moment.

Stillman shakes his head. "Neither can I, Scotty. Let's go and get some coffee."

"Coffee?" Scotty asks incredulously.

"Clear our heads." It's more an order than a request, and Scotty realises fresh air might feel good and wake him up a little. He seems to be growing immune to the caffeine he's been swallowing. All it does now is add to his pounding headache.

"Sure you don't need the doc to look at you?" Stillman asks, glancing at Scotty as he passes on the way out.

"I'm sure," Scotty mutters. He grabs his jacket from the back of Lil's chair and runs his fingers across the edge of her desk as he follows Stillman to the door.

Outside, the sun is high and the sky is blue and clear. There is a distinct chill in the air, though as Scotty looks around it seems as though he's the only one who can feel it.

Stillman orders two coffees from the cart in the street and Scotty lets his eyes wander over the crowds. It's Saturday. People are out and about, shopping and having coffee and laughing and enjoying themselves. He looks at them all and wonders how many of them have shadows or secrets clinging to them. He looks around at the ordinary men and women and realises just how well John Smith could blend in with them. A monster hiding in the camouflage of possible victims.

"I should have ordered Lil to take more time off," Stillman says after a moment, handing Scotty a cardboard cup of coffee.

"She wouldn't have listened," he answers dully.

Stillman just shakes his head. "How much sleep do you think she's had?"

"Couple of hours a night." His answers come automatically, without the slightest thought, but he knows he's right. Guilt swims in his gut. "We should've done somethin' about it."

Stillman nods. In the afternoon light he looks pale and exhausted. "She can hold her own," he says. "She knows John Smith's game. She'll play hard."

Scotty just swallows quietly. He's not so sure. John Smith seemed able to get under Lilly's skin and play on all her vulnerabilities.

"Where the hell could he have taken her?" he asks after a moment, sitting down on a bench by the coffee cart. "All those basements have been checked. We've found everyone but Lil."

Stillman just nods, staring down at the ground between his knees, clasping his coffee loosely.

Scotty wonders how much progress Vera and Jeffries are making with Brenda. Somehow he knows there won't be much she can tell them. He knows John Smith isn't the sort of man to talk about himself. He probably spent a lot of time talking about Brenda. She might not even have much idea of what he looks like.

He can feel his heart sinking lower and lower. It's starting to pain him, all this hopelessness and guilt. He wonders just how far John Smith will stray from his usual pattern. He wonders if he's desperate enough to just seal Lil away immediately. Or worse, he wonders if John Smith has already hurt her or killed her. He wonders if Lil has bled to death thanks to the bullet that flew wild from Scotty's gun.

Stillman seems to sense what Scotty is thinking, but he remains silent, and Scotty is thankful. Instead, the lieutenant reaches out and puts a hand on his detective's shoulder, comforting him quietly.

xXx

In the bunker, as darkness falls, there is no one to comfort Lilly.

xXx


	6. Nightmares

Scotty toys with his empty coffee cup. He feels a vague need to get back into the office and do _something_ , but at the same time the fresh air and the sunshine on his shoulders have cleared his head a little. The tension in his shoulders has eased and the bruises all the way down his side have stopped throbbing.

Stillman sits quietly beside him, watching the crowds of Saturday shoppers pass them by. Scotty knows he feels just as torn up about Lil as he does. The whole team is suffering the weight of terrible guilt.

 _She's just so damn stubborn,_ Scotty thinks to himself. _She wouldn't listen to any of us. Kept telling us she was fine; she was fine. What the hell were we supposed to do?_

Stillman sighs and glances at Scotty. "You should head home," he says.

Scotty feels his stomach drop and for a moment he feels betrayed. Stillman has been fair and understanding so far, like always, and more than willing to keep Scotty around, despite that asshole Inspector Benson.

"No," he says flatly, forcing the fatigue out of his eyes. "I'm stayin'."

"Maybe you should go to Lil's," Stillman says, still staring out across the courtyard. "Someone should feed her cats."

Scotty is about to force that duty upon Miller when he stops. The idea of going to Lil's place suddenly seems tempting. Suddenly, Lil's place seems like a distant refuge. A place full of _her_ in a time so empty.

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "I'll do it."

xXx

He has a key. He can't even remember when she gave it to him. It just happened. Like it just turned up in his desk drawer one day with a giant invisible ribbon attached to it, embroidered with Lil's name and trust. Of course that's not how it happened. She probably handed it to him with explicit instructions on how it shouldn't be abused and how it should only be used in emergencies. Like if she hasn't been into work for a week he can enter her place and make sure she's not passed out on the floor with her cats nibbling at her toes.

He can't remember how he got the key, but he got it, and that's all that matters.

He slides it home into the lock and steps quietly inside. The cats look up at him with disdain and he sighs and shrugs at them.

"I dunno," he says. "I'm all you got for now. Tough break, huh?" He makes a face when he realises he's talking to a pair of cats and he drops the key back into his pocket before he heads for the kitchen. The cats wind around his feet – even the one with a missing leg seems spry enough and fast enough to trip him up if he's not careful.

He has no idea what Lil feeds them. He just tips a tin of cat food into a bowl and they seem content with it. He watches them for a moment before he moves back into the living room and sinks onto the sofa.

His mind feels stretched and worn. Images and phrases from all the reports he's read swim and sink across his mind, foggy and tired.

He gazes around despairingly. Her place is neat and tidy, though he supposes it's hard to mess it up when you spend so little time at home. Lil seems to live at her desk.

He rubs his jaw and gets to his feet, checking on the cats again before he tests the locks on all the windows and doors. Making sure everything is safe for when Lil comes back. The desire to get be in Lil's house has left as quickly as it came. Suddenly it's too much, being surrounded by her like this. All it seems to do is remind him she's missing.

He glances around again, breathing in the emptiness of the living room. Then he locks the door behind him and stands outside in the lengthening shadows. Night is starting to fall across Philadelphia.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes out his cell phone, intent on calling up to homicide to see what progress has been made. But instead, he freezes, with his phone in his hand, and his stomach shivers and clenches uncomfortably.

He takes three short steps along the sidewalk and glances down into the backseat of the car. He must have walked right past it just ten minutes before, completely ignorant to its significance.

There's nothing there but a patch of dried blood on the seat. But it's the car. It's definitely the unmarked police car Scotty and Lil took to transport John Smith.

And John Smith has parked the damn thing in Lilly's street.

xXx

Lilly shivers. She's overcome her aversion to the musty blankets she'd piled in the sun. They're now wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and she's sitting in the middle of the bed with her back leaning against the wall.

Night is falling. The light doesn't come into the bunker anymore but she can still see the faint glow of it through the hole above. She can hear the forest above her crackling and squealing with night noises and she can't stop shivering and trembling.

She's completely ashamed. She repeats to herself, over and over, that she needs to pull herself together. That falling apart is exactly what will get her killed, especially when playing John Smith's game. She tells herself that there's no need to feel so terrified. She'll be found.

 _Maybe._

She wonders if Scotty has been found yet. She doubts it. Nobody knew they'd take that road. Nobody knows about the well. As far as anyone back in Philly is concerned, Lilly, Scotty and John Smith have all disappeared off the face of the Earth.

She wishes John Smith would come back. She curses herself for not accepting his offer of food, though she still isn't hungry. The hollow ache in her stomach is familiar now and almost comforting in a sad sort of way.

 _Next time he comes back, be polite to him. Be interested in him. Get him to tell you more of his stories. The more you know about him, the better chance you have of getting out of here._

She curls up on the bare mattress, listening to the bedsprings squeak and shift beneath her.

She closes her eyes before the darkness becomes complete and tries to convince herself that beyond her eyelids everything is okay.

But it's not. When it's dark it doesn't matter if her eyes are open or closed. All she can see is shattering glass and florescent lights racing by overhead.

Gunshots and voices echo in her ears.

 _Is there anyone we can call for you, Lilly? Who should we contact? Who do we get in touch with? Lilly? Who can come and be with you? Who is going to be worried about you? Lilly? Lilly?_

And she can hear her own voice, louder and louder and ragged and desperate and afraid.

 _Nobody. Nobody is going to be worried about me._

xXx

She cries out when she wakes, and despite the chill in the air, she is drenched in sweat. She kicks the blankets away and staggers to her feet, disoriented and breathless. She pants desperately, her breath wheezing from her chest. She can feel the hot burn of lead in her shoulder and her pulse beats in time to lights that flash by over the rattling gurney...

She shakes herself and turns around several times, trying to figure out where the hand basin is. It's pitch-black and the night is thick with silence. The forest has grown deadly quiet above her and everything feels muffled and hot.

The nightmare clings to her in shreds and she tries to bat it all away, raking her hands through her sweat-damp hair and gritting her teeth. For a moment the shattering mirror in the interrogation room was replaced by stone walls and moonlight and Scotty Valens falling into darkness.

She forces her mind to snap closed again as she finally finds the hand basin and turns the faucet on, splashing water up onto her skin.

She can't stand it. She has to get out of here. She has to get out and when she does she'll admit to them all that she's not okay and she needs help. She'll finally tell Scotty no, she's not okay, and no, she's not getting enough sleep. She'll stop avoiding Stillman's watchful eyes and she'll look at him honestly and tell him she needs more time off.

She sinks to her knees, barely aware that she's been sobbing since she finally dragged herself out of sleep and into a new nightmare. She presses her hands over her face, promising whoever is listening that if she can just get out of the bunker, she'll make everything okay.

xXx

Lilly's street is awash in red and blue lights. The neighbours are not amused that all of this has continued so late, and they're not amused when they're asked the same questions over and over again.

Nobody saw anything.

Scotty has dodged the inspectors again, though he knows it's only for a short while. He knows they want to ask him if _he_ saw anything, and if not, what the fuck was he doing instead of keeping a watchful eye?

 _I was feeding Lil's cats, okay? I didn't see nothin'. Because I was feeding her damn cats._

The cats are in the window of Lil's living room, watching everything with narrowed eyes. Scotty thinks they know exactly what's going on and he's sure they blame him for all of it. The white one seems to look at him a lot and flick her tail impatiently as though demanding an explanation for all the bullshit everyone is going through.

Scotty stands near the car next to Stillman. The blood on the backseat is Lil's – they don't need DNA tests to know that. Official confirmation, when it comes, will add nothing.

"I think I shot her," Scotty says quietly.

"It's not much blood, Scotty," Stillman says. "She fought John Smith hard. She might have a few cuts and scrapes."

He just nods, but the weight of responsibility and blame refuses to shift.

"He's gotta have another basement somewhere," he says after a moment. "Somewhere else to keep her."

"Miller's still checking," Stillman assures him. He sounds tired.

"Well what if it ain't a basement?" Scotty asks, letting his panic get the better of him. "What if he's just got her in a house somewhere and she's cuffed and he's got her gagged so she can't scream? What if she's hurt so bad he don't even have to lock a door to keep her prisoner?"

"Scotty." Stillman says his name once, and it holds enough simultaneous calm and warning to shut Scotty up.

Still, Scotty looks up and down the street. Maybe Lil is in a house like one of these houses, surrounded by people and unable to reach any of them for help. Maybe John Smith has hidden her in plain sight like he hid the car, taunting them by keeping her so close and so invisible.

Scotty turns away from Stillman, fury and helplessness burning brightly behind his eyes. The truth is, they have no idea where Lilly is, and over the course of the day they've gained nothing to make their search any easier.

xXx

Lilly can't even attempt an escape until the morning light starts to show faintly through the manhole above her.

The night was pitch-black and she had no idea where the entrance even was until dawn arrived. Now, however, it is a different story.

She can't drag the bed over, but she drags everything else. The comic books, the musty blankets, the mattress. She tries to wrench the basin away from the wall, knowing it could give her extra height if she balanced upon it, but she's too weak to even come close.

She piles everything as high as she can get it and stands on the top, bouncing slightly. She has kicked her extra shoe away and the mattress feels spongy and soft under her feet.

She knows what she is doing is useless. There is no way out of this bunker. But the thought of spending another night here is too terrifying to contemplate, so she teeters on the top of the small, untidy pile of belongings John Smith has left her with and she looks to the ceiling.

The hole is still so far away. She stretches her arms up, bounces slightly on the mattress, and jumps.

She doesn't even come close. She crashes back down again, landing with a hard thud on the dirt. The pile she carefully constructed falls apart.

She climbs onto the mattress and pulls a blanket around her shoulders, curling into a ball.

She doesn't attempt a second escape. One failure is enough.

xXx

Lilly isn't aware she's dozing until she hears the whistling, far above her, soft and pleasant. She lifts her head from the mattress groggily, feeling stiff and sore.

She hears the whistling again and she gasps and cries out, lifting her face towards the open hole above her.

"Hello?" She licks her lips and waits. "Hello? Is somebody there?"

 _Please, please, please. Let someone be walking their dog through the forest. Let a group of campers wander in. Let someone find me, please..._

John Smith's head appears above her and he smiles. "Hello, detective."

She deflates and rests her head back down on the mattress, which is still on the floor where her escape pile used to be.

"Did you sleep well?" John Smith asks.

She remembers her earlier promise to herself and she looks up at him, preparing to be polite and engage him in conversation.

"No, I didn't sleep very well," she admits.

He rests his cheek against his hand, looking down at her. "Why not?"

"I had nightmares," she says, sitting up and craning her head back to look at him. "There's no light down here. It's hard to find my way around during the night. I need a flashlight."

"I believe I left yours in the car," he says apologetically. "I'll try and find you another one."

"Thank you."

He nods and smiles down at her. "Are you hungry, this morning?"

She licks her lips slightly and nods, though food couldn't be further from her mind.

He drops a paper bag down to her and she looks inside. Blueberry muffins. She breaks bite-sized pieces off and chews obediently, though swallowing is hard and she's growing thirsty.

"What were your nightmares about?" John Smith asks softly.

She looks up at him again and sets the muffins aside. "I need to know if Detective Valens is okay," she says after a moment, and when her voice cracks she lowers her head to hide her face from him.

John Smith chuckles. "Do you think he is okay, detective?"

She bites her lip hard and squeezes her eyes closed, forcing her tears back again before she shakes her head.

"No," John Smith agrees. "You are making the same mistakes your predecessors made. You are clinging to something which is useless."

"Hope, you mean?" she asks angrily, looking up at him again.

"Foolishness," he answers coldly, apparently not appreciating her tone. "Detective Valens is dead and yet you cling to the impossible idea that he survived somehow. You refuse to accept what you know to be true."

"Why do you think people do that, John?" she asks harshly, barely resisting the urge to cover her ears against his words.

"People are fools," he barks back at her. "Building themselves up and glorifying their stupid, meaningless little lives to make themselves feel better."

"Who cares?" she shrieks up at him. "What is it to you? You were the loser sitting there with their videos, watching them live and be happy. It's _you_ who has nothing." She glares up at him. "Even your name," she says, sneering at him. "John Smith. Don't you have a real name? Talk about someone hiding behind a facade of glory and self-importance..."

He glares down at her, and without another word he drags the manhole cover back in place and locks her in the dark, shutting away the daylight.

She curls up on the mattress with her heart pounding in her ears and she curses herself for being so stupid and so hot-headed.

Then, finally, she cries again, because she knows deep down that John Smith is right about one thing.

Detective Valens is dead.

xXx

Scotty isn't really asleep at his desk. He lets everyone think he is, if that's what it takes to have them leave him alone – but really, he's thinking. Maybe dozing a little, but mostly thinking, and he's using his arm as a pillow and a mask as the office shifts and bustles around him.

Phones ring and ring and ring, and people are short tempered and frustrated. But Scotty is in a bubble and he shuts everyone else out of it as he withdraws into himself and rakes over every little detail of the case.

 _I'm so useless at this,_ he thinks miserably. _I need Lil here to help me with the answers._

His shoulder is throbbing again and he thinks about moving position, but he doesn't want to draw attention to himself again. Stillman has gone home to sleep and Scotty figures he'll be back in an hour or so, refreshed or not. Until then, Scotty wants to fly below the radar. For some reason, Stillman signals safety and reassurance, and Scotty feels too weak to go on without someone beside him.

 _He parked that damn car there for a reason,_ he thinks in frustration. _Not just because he knew we'd find it there. He went there for a reason._

He can feel the key to Lilly's front door burning a hole in his pocket, and suddenly he leaps to his feet, scaring the hell out of Kat, who shrieks and then throws her pen at him, clutching her chest.

Scotty races for the door, not bothering with an explanation or apology.

 _He parked the car there because he has the other key to Lil's front door. He's been in her house._

xXx

Lil's house is dark and quiet. The cops have all gone – the car has been towed away to be thoroughly inspected. Scotty isn't sure what the hell it can tell them other than the fact John Smith drove Lil away somewhere.

He closes the front door softly beside them and absent-mindedly steps over the white cat curled up on the carpet by the front door. She seems determined to trip him up somehow.

He turns the lights on, flooding every room. Lil seems to have a hell of a lot of lamps. He glances around, but he can see nothing out of place. But then, how the hell would he know? All the years he's known Lil and he's only set foot in here a few times.

He traces his fingertips along the back of the sofa and steps towards her kitchen. There's a pile of mail on the counter. Her fridge is almost empty and her milk is out of date.

Her bedroom smells like lavender. The bed is made and the ginger cat glares up at him with one eye from where Scotty imagines Lil's feet usually go. He takes a moment to straighten her pillow gently, smoothing the cotton under his palm, before he sits next to the bed and leans against it tiredly.

He's sure John Smith has been here, but there was probably no reason for it other than to wander through Lilly's house simply because he could. Nothing appears to be missing or out of place and Scotty's not sure why he assumed there would be.

 _Lil's going to hate knowing he was here,_ he thinks to himself. He can vaguely remember a time someone broke in through a window, painting a message on her wall to scare her away from a case. He'd been caught up in his grief about Elisa at the time. And later, he'd been caught up in the tangle of Christina's arms and legs.

When it had all burned away and died down he'd felt nothing but guilt for not making sure Lil was okay.

She had been so worried about him and how he felt after losing Elisa and he hadn't even bothered to phone her back and make sure she was okay after some nut broke into her house, attempting to frighten her away.

He smiles wryly. _It took a lot to scare Lil, back then._

He wonders if the job will beat him down in the same way it has beaten his partner down. He wonders if he'll be chased by ghosts and nightmares in the dark after he's been in the job a few more years.

He wonders if this is the beginning of it.

xXx


	7. Lavender

Lilly doesn't bother moving the mattress back to the bed. It's dark and she doesn't like the idea of wandering around, bumping into ghosts. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply.

For the first time she allows herself to truly think about Scotty. It's unavoidable, really. He's always been there, hovering at the edge of her mind and in the centre of her chest. She hugs the blankets around her and thinks about their last hours together.

There was always a risk. He knew it as well as she does. When you go to work every day and you mingle with murderers and cruelties there's a chance you won't make it home at the end of the day. She's come close a few times.

But for some reason Scotty always seemed safe. She never stopped to think that maybe one day she'd have to get up and live a day without him there beside her. Maybe it's with everything that's happened to her lately. It's so easy to get lost in fear and hopelessness when you're so tired and damaged because of all that's piled up against you. She never stopped to think about the knocks Scotty has taken.

Losing Elisa was probably the worst. Lilly can remember not knowing what to say to him. She can remember looking at him and knowing he shouldn't have been at work because he wasn't ready to go back yet.

She gives a wry smile into the dark as she realises how turned around things can get.

It doesn't matter now, anyway. If she does get out of here she'll have to get used to a world without Scotty Valens. She _used_ to live in a world like that. Before he came along.

She can't remember what it was like.

 _I hope they find you,_ she thinks, her mind tired and dull. She wonders who told Scotty's parents he's missing. He has people out there missing him and worrying about him. She has nobody.

 _The people who never gain back the bodies of their loved ones are always more destroyed than those who are able to bury their grief. A body means closure. To have someone just disappear... You're bound to spend the rest of your life hoping, aren't you?_

Lilly listens to her breath, soft and warm against the mattress. She wonders if she's stupid, clinging to the small flare of hope inside her. John Smith certainly thinks so.

Logic tells her he's right. She's not sure how deep the well is, but there's no way Scotty could have hit the bottom unharmed. Even in the best case scenario, he's probably badly hurt.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thinks tiredly. _I should have listened to you. We should have waited for back-up. I should have paid more attention. I should have kept John Smith under tighter control. It's all my fault and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scotty._

xXx

The ginger cat is purring at the end of Lil's bed.

Scotty is still on the floor, leaning back against the mattress. He knows he should get up and go back to the precinct and see if there's anything new. Somehow he doubts it. He's sure he'd have received a call if anything had changed.

He looks tiredly around her bedroom. He wonders if John Smith came in here and poked around and his skin crawls at the thought of it. He's certain the car was parked outside because John Smith dumped Lilly somewhere and then came here to snoop around and learn things about her.

Scotty can't see anything missing, but maybe John Smith doesn't need to take anything. Maybe he just needs to run his eyes over Lilly's possessions to know what her life is like.

Scotty looks around, trying to see things through John Smith's eyes, but he's too tired. All he can see is Lil. Dear Lil. Strange and private and quiet and fiercely stubborn and determined.

He breathes deeply, stirring up the sweet scent of lavender again. He wonders where it comes from. She doesn't wear perfume. Not that he's noticed, anyway. Maybe the lavender is in her fabric softener or maybe it's some sort of cleaning product.

 _Get up, Valens. Get up and find her. You ain't helpin' nobody sittin' here._

He struggles tiredly to his feet and glances down at Lilly's empty bed again. The ginger cat stretches and looks up at him.

"I'll get her back," he says aloud. "You miss her too, huh?"

The cat closes her eye and goes to sleep again and Scotty feels a strange sort of emptiness for her, knowing she usually sleeps at Lil's feet. He's upset, suddenly, that wherever Lil is, she spent last night sleeping alone, with no one to keep her company.

xXx

When John Smith hauls the manhole cover back again it's raining. Lil feels the wet drops fall cold and wet on her face. She blinks up at him, still on the mattress in the middle of the floor.

 _Be polite to him, this time._

"Hello," she says softly.

He smiles. "Hello."

She rubs a hand over her face, feeling tired and weak. "What time is it?"

He ignores her. "I think you owe me an apology," he says.

She clenches her fingers tightly into the blankets around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she says after a moment.

He gazes down at her. "I have life and power, detective," he says. "I am important."

"I know." She avoids his eyes.

"If you speak to me like that again I'll hurt you." He says it softly and pleasantly and Lilly's skin crawls.

She looks up at him. "You've hurt me already," she says softly.

"Not physically." He smiles down at her. "Are you hungry?"

She swallows carefully and shakes her head. "No, thank you."

He frowns. "You should eat."

"Why?" she asks. "What's the point? I'm going to die down here."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't give me that, detective. You haven't gone that far, yet. You think you can fool me?"

"No," she answers truthfully. "I don't think I can fool you. But I'm not going to play your games, John. I'm not going to keep myself alive down here only to eventually die the way you want me to die."

"Ah," he says. "Rebellion."

"If you say so," she answers, sitting up and letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. "What time is it, please?"

He tilts his head. "Why are you so fixated on time?"

"I'm not," she says. "It's just that my watch is broken and I'd like to know how long I've been down here."

"Is it so you know how long there is until they stop searching for you?"

She cranes her head up at him. "What do you mean?"

"The search will eventually be called off," he says. "Resources, detective. They cost money and the department will soon file you away in a box and forget about you."

She feels icy fear grip the back of her neck and she resists the urge to shiver and hug herself.

"How long do searches usually last?" he asks her.

She's sure he already knows the answer.

"They'll move on," he says simply, not bothered when she ignores him. "It's inevitable."

Lilly tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Have they found Brenda?"

He chuckles. "I haven't been back to check. It's possible, I suppose. I'm sure I left a trail somewhere."

"How did you come across this place?" Lilly asks. "Is there a trail here?"

"I doubt they'll trace anything to this place," he answers. "The only way they'll find you is if I tell them where you are."

She fidgets and shifts slightly on the mattress. "Will you tell them where Scotty is?" she asks after a moment, her eyes clear and wide as she looks up at them. "The detective. Detective Valens. Will you tell them where he is?"

"Why would I do that?" he asks, sounding amused.

"Because his family will be worried about him," she says desperately. "Because there's no point in him just lying there, dead. It won't be a loss to you if you tell them where he is."

He rests his chin in his hand again, looking thoughtful. "Tell me what your nightmares are about," he says.

She moistens her lips with her tongue, breathing carefully. "If I tell you, will you point the police towards Scotty?"

He stares back at her and she hangs her head in defeat.

"I was shot," she says after a moment. "A few months ago." She shrugs and shakes her head. "I thought I was going to die."

"And that's what frightens you?" he asks. "Death?"

She nods and looks up at him.

He sneers at her. "A homicide detective afraid of death? Try again. And this time, don't lie."

She grits her teeth, resisting the urge to scream up at him. "It's different, facing it yourself."

"I'll put the cover back on," he says softly. "I'll put the cover back on and leave you alone in the dark, detective, if you don't start telling me the truth."

She can feel her muscles trembling with fear and adrenaline. She can feel anger building up inside her again and she fights it desperately, knowing that if she snaps at him or loses her temper, he'll slide the cover back in place and leave her in the dark.

"My nightmares aren't... linear," she says.

He chuckles and looks down at her with an expression of eagerness and child-like delight. He is taking obvious pleasure in her fear and she forces it back, staring up at him with quiet determination.

"Tell me," he says impatiently.

"It's dark," she says. "Sometimes there are flashing lights. In a hospital. And gunshots and breaking glass."

"Why breaking glass?"

"Detective Valens shot through the mirror in the interrogation room to save me," she says, lifting her chin slightly. She's proud when her voice remains clear and steady.

"Ah, he saved you," John Smith drawls. "He's your hero, is he?"

Lilly glares at him. "It isn't like that. Not in our job. It wasn't a regular day, but it wasn't something he hesitated with, either."

John Smith just smiles down at her.

She looks back at him furiously.

"Is Detective Valens in your nightmares?" John Smith asks.

"No."

 _No one is. I'm alone._

"Do you die, in your nightmares?"

"No. I wake up."

"What wakes you?"

"Different things. Sometimes it's the lights. Sometimes it's the gunshot or the glass." She looks away then, not wanting to tell him that usually it's the voices of the paramedics questioning her.

"You have trouble sleeping," he says.

She nods, looking down at her hands.

"You fill your bedroom with the scent of lavender in an effort to calm yourself so you can sleep."

Her head snaps back and she looks up at him with wide eyes.

He smiles back at her.

Lilly's heart hammers in her chest. "You've been in my house," she says angrily.

"The keys were in your pocket," he says simply. "Yes."

She splutters furiously, staggering to her feet and glaring up at him, too angry to form proper coherent words.

John Smith chuckles and tilts his head to the side. "Look at you," he says fondly, "All indignant because I know what your bedroom smells like." He smiles at her. "Your cats," he says, "have been victims of accidents or mistreatment. Yes?"

Lilly's mouth is dry. She's terrified he's done something to them – especially after what he said earlier, regarding animals not having the same fears or choices as humans.

John Smith continues quietly, the rain misting down and dampening his hair. "You feel the need to nurture them and look after them? Who looks after you, detective? You live alone. The mail is all addressed to you and you alone. There is very little food in your kitchen."

"Stop it," she snaps.

He ignores her. "There are no photographs," he says. "No photographs of friends or family on your walls or your mantelpiece. Tell me, detective – if I hadn't stolen you away from a whole crowd of police, would anyone even know you were gone?"

She gazes up at him and he smiles at her and disappears, leaving nothing but the rain filtering down through the hole above her.

xXx

Scotty sits in the car, watching the wipers slide back and forth through the misty rain on the windshield. Outside, police tape blows in the wind, bouncing gently on the branches it's tied to.

He feels slightly guilty. Stillman thinks he's at home getting some rest, but there's no way Scotty can be still and sleeping with Lil missing.

He gets out of the car and slams the door, ducking under the police tape and walking towards the well. It's all still roped off, but the cops and crime scene crews are all gone.

He stands away from the well in the ground, not daring to get too close. He turns slowly on the spot, trying to replace the scene in front of him with the one that took place earlier.

Lil standing behind John Smith, pale and eager and hopeful, so sure that Brenda is down the well. John Smith standing slightly hunched and timid in the shackles, his eyes locked dreamily on the well, a vague smile on his face...

Scotty grits his teeth and glances around, the rain starting to chill him. The woods are quiet. Rain drips from the leaves. He starts to think, with a heavy heart, that John Smith just took Lil out into the middle of the woods and shot her with her own gun.

 _She won't play his game. So he'll end it._

Scotty shivers and gets back into the car, but can't bring himself to drive away. This was the last place he saw her.

All the things they've been through and he's never considered her not coming back. He spent a long night pacing a hospital corridor, sick with worry and with Lil's blood on his hands, and still couldn't believe she wouldn't be all right.

This time is different. This time the terror has stuck to his skin and he can't scrub it off. This time he's convinced it's the end.

He leans his forehead against the steering wheel and lets a loud sob escape.

xXx

The homicide office is quiet. Scotty figures everyone has finally given into exhaustion and has gone home to rest before coming back in the evening to trace Lil. At least, he hopes that's what will happen.

Stillman is in his office. Scotty leans against the door. "Any news?" he asks softly.

Stillman shakes his head and runs a careful eye over Scotty. "Did you go home?"

Scotty rubs the back of his head and decides to tell the truth. "Can't. I've gotta find her, boss."

"You're no good to Lil without some sleep," Stillman says. He motions to the seat opposite him and Scotty sinks into it. Exhaustion is like a stain on his skin – he can smell it and feel it covering him like sweat.

He rubs his eyes, but he can't think about sleep now. He can't.

"I gotta _do_ something," he says fiercely. "I can't stand it, boss."

"I know, Scotty," Stillman murmurs, leaning back in his chair tiredly. He looks exhausted. Scotty doubts he got any rest when he went home. "I should've kept a closer eye on things."

Scotty just shakes his head. "Ain't your fault," he murmurs. "She had us all fooled pretty good."

"No she didn't," Stillman answers quietly. "We chose to be fooled. That's an entirely different thing." He shakes his head and glances down at the papers scattered across his desk.

Scotty scrapes his palm over his jaw, listening to the stubble slide against his skin. He needs a shave, and a shower – and more than anything, he needs sleep.

But he can't. He can't.

xXx

It's dark when John Smith returns. It's still raining. Lilly can hear it pattering softly above her, and it falls down through the open manhole onto the floor of the bunker.

She tries to focus on it, knowing that rain should be soothing. In bed, at home, with her cats curled up against her, the rain against her window calms her. But not here.

John Smith shines a flashlight down through the manhole. "Hello, detective."

"Hello," Lilly answers wearily, leaving the bed and standing beneath him with a blanket around her shoulders.

"I've brought you a flashlight."

"Thank you," she answers.

"I'll give it to you in exchange for some information."

She grits her teeth. "I already told you about my nightmares," she says.

"I have decided to let your superiors know where the well is," he says. "I need to know who I should contact."

Her heart leaps. "Lieutenant Stillman," she says. She squints against the light John Smith shines down onto her face. "You're not lying to me, are you?" she asks after a moment.

"I never lie," he answers. "I'll tell Lieutenant Stillman where the body of his other detective is."

Lilly shifts her weight from foot to foot. "Why did you change your mind, John?" she asks after a moment. She can feel a small flare of hope growing inside her. _If he can change his mind about one thing, he can change his mind about other things. Don't give up, Rush. You'll get out of this. You'll crack him. You'll trip him up. Don't. Give. Up._

She can hear the delighted smile in John Smith's voice as it filters down to her through the darkness. "It's worth it," he says, "to see that pretty little glitter in your eyes."

xXx

Scotty's headache is back, moving in steady, sluggish pulses down his back and into his shoulders. He's taken to pacing around the office, moving in a wide loop, stopping occasionally to rake his eyes over the photographs and maps taped to Stillman's glass walls, or to pour himself another cup of coffee.

Vera has ordered pizza, but nobody has much of an appetite. The slices stay in the box, greasy and cold, cheese congealing and hardening slowly.

They all know the signs. The case is going cold. It's early, but there's no trail. Lil has disappeared.

Scotty feels sick. He stands in front of the map on Stillman's office walls and glares at it, silently demanding that it give up Lilly's location.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks furiously. _FUCK. Don't. Don't, don't, don't go cold. Please. Please don't. There's gotta be somethin'. I missed somethin'. She can't be gone. Not like this. Please, not like this._

He can feel Stillman watching him, and Kat and Vera have exchanged several pointed looks whenever Scotty passes by, pacing with a half-empty mug of coffee clenched in his sweaty palm.

Jeffries glances at him now and then, but carries on as usual, and Scotty is grateful. The way the others are looking at him is weighing heavily on him and he can feel the need to keep moving and stay bright and alert so they stop telling him to go home and get some rest.

It's late on Sunday night. It's almost 48 hours since John Smith broke away from Scotty and Lil. It feels like it happened years ago.

When Scotty hears Stillman's phone ring, he loiters in the doorway, too exhausted and desperate to feel bad about eavesdropping.

When Stillman looks up with wide eyes, Scotty gives a shout back into the main office. Miller immediately snatches up her phone to organise a trace to be made on the call on Stillman's line. Scotty can hear her muttering as she scribbles notes and gestures excitedly. He leaves her to it and rushes to Stillman's desk, forcing himself to stay calm.

Stillman hits speaker and continues the conversation calmly. "This is Lieutenant Stillman," he confirms. "Where are you, John?"

John Smith pauses. He knows he's on speaker phone, but he continues anyway. Scotty's thudding heart almost drowns his voice out.

"I'm not calling to discuss my whereabouts," John Smith answers softly. "But I feel the need to confess."

"Confess to what?" Stillman asks sharply.

"I've murdered one of your detectives," John Smith answers pleasantly.

Scotty sinks to his knees, the blood draining away from his face. _He did it. He killed her. She's gone._

His breath won't come to him. His hands lock tightly onto the edge of Stillman's desk and he stares at the phone in disbelief, listening to the soft breath filtering through the speaker. He can't comprehend what's just happened. He can't figure out what his emotions are doing. All he knows is his legs won't hold him up anymore and all the coffee in his stomach is threatening to leap from his mouth, hot and bitter.

 _I'm gonna be sick._

"He's in the bottom of a well in the woods," John Smith continues. "I pushed him in on top of another heap of bones."

Scotty lets out a soft gasp of relief and rests his cheek down against the surface of Stillman's desk. His face is wet with sweat and tears. He clenches his fists and closes his eyes.

 _He thinks I'm dead. He's confessing to my murder. Lil is alive._

Stillman sinks slowly into his chair. Scotty can hear the slightest tremor in his voice.

"Where is the well, John?"

John Smith chuckles. "Oh, come now," he says softly. "You already know. I know you've found him. I know he's alive. But it's so _nice_ to know you're willing to play games with me, lieutenant."

Scotty can't take it. He leaps to his feet and leans over the desk, snarling into the phone. "Where _is_ she, you son of a bitch?"

John Smith chuckles. "She is safe," he answers. "But she believes you are dead, detective. I'm afraid that took a lot of fight out of her. But I got it back. I told her I'd tell the lieutenant where your body was and that seems to have put some spark and fight back into her again."

"We think Detective Rush might need medical attention," Stillman interrupts, reaching over and putting a hand on Scotty's shoulder, silently urging him to keep quiet. "There was blood in the car."

"What was the name of the woman down the well?" John Smith asks, ignoring Stillman. "I never knew."

"You can't have done it," Scotty snaps. "You were just a kid when she disappeared."

John Smith chuckles. "I was there. I watched the hope and life die from her eyes. I'm going to watch it fade out of the eyes of your detective as well. Now that I've put it back..."

"Anna Whiteoak," Stillman answers. "How'd you come across her, John?"

"That doesn't matter," he answers airily.

"Why are you calling?" Scotty asks, his voice rough and hard. "You got no reason to call. You knew I was alive. Why'd you call in to confess when you knew there was no murder?"

"I promised her," John Smith answers quietly. "She thinks you're dead." He chuckles. "She's very upset."

"Fuck you!" Scotty snarls. He can feel Vera tugging at the back of his jacket. "I'll kill you, you hear me? I'm gonna –"

Vera yanks him backwards.

John Smith tuts softly. "I almost wish I'd kept you," he says. "You have more fire than she does, at the moment. I'm a little disappointed in how hopeless and helpless she looks when she stares up at me..."

Scotty feels his heart take a hard, loud leap. _When she stares up at him. She's down somewhere. Locked down. Away._

He tells himself to calm down. _Don't read too much into it or you can go trippin' down the wrong path, Valens. And that won't help her._

But at the same time he's suddenly feverish with hope. One small slip is all they ever really needed.

"I had to take her a flashlight," John Smith says, giving a soft laugh into the phone. "I had to give her a flashlight because she's so afraid of the dark." His laugh grows louder and Scotty furiously wrenches himself free of Vera's grasp, clenching his fists tightly. His knuckles crack loudly in the tense silence of Stillman's office.

"Tell us where she is, John," Stillman says. "Tell us where you're holding Detective Rush."

"I hope she sleeps better tonight," he says. "I don't have any lavender."

Scotty jerks and stares down at the phone in amazement, just as Miller runs into the office and thrusts a sheet of paper under Stillman's nose. Scotty can read her wide, blocky print upside down.

 _He's at Lil's house. 5-0 on the way._

Scotty doesn't wait. He knows John Smith is going to hang up at any moment and disappear into the night like a ghost. Maybe the uniformed cops will be there in a few seconds and they'll get him, but Scotty wants to be there anyway.

Even without the trace coming through, that last comment would have given it away. That comment about the lavender, and the taunting sound in John Smith's voice. He _wants_ them to know where he is. He's growing cocky and careless. He knows he's facing the needle for the murders of the other women and he's throwing caution to the wind. The consequences if he's caught can't get any worse, so why not go out with a bang and _really_ act like an asshole?

Scotty wonders why he doesn't just disappear and slide into a crowd somewhere, blending in and hiding away. He could do it. He could disappear quite easily.

But he hasn't. Instead, he called Stillman to taunt them all. To be smug and cocky. He's veering further and further away from his regular pattern and that terrifies Scotty.

But he has no time to think about it. In a few minutes John Smith will be gone again, escaping the police by the barest margin. Scotty can't let that happen.

He clenches his car keys in his hand. _I'm comin' to get you, you smug son of a bitch. Sittin' on the end of Lil's bed talkin' about lavender. You ain't gettin' away from me this time._

xXx


	8. Lock

Every single light on the way to Lil's house glows red in the night, and Scotty races his car through them all, barely glancing either side of the intersection to make sure it's safe first.

He's going so fast nothing can touch him.

Lil's street is strobed with red and blue again. The neighbours are all watching, peering through curtains and standing at their front doors in their pyjamas.

Scotty leaps from his car and bounds up the steps, hurrying through the open front door to find two uniformed police officers looking pale and guilty.

"Where is he?" Scotty snaps, storming through into Lil's bedroom. There's a depression on the side of the bed and Scotty knows it's from John Smith sitting there just minutes before.

"The dog unit is on the way," one of the officers says rather timidly. He looks young and fresh and desperate and Scotty finds it hard not to unleash all of his frustrations on this damn kid who got there too late to stop John Smith walking away.

"Fuck!" He punches his hand against Lil's bedroom door and walks back to the front of the house, letting the cool night air wash over him.

John Smith has slipped away into the dark and is increasing the distance between himself and Scotty with every passing second.

Scotty has no idea where he should start searching.

xXx

Lilly clutches her flashlight with white-knuckled fingers. Every few minutes she clicks it on, convinced she has heard a noise. Then she tells herself the battery will run down, and she turns it off again, listening to her breath in the dark.

She wonders how long it is until morning. She wonders when John Smith will visit again. She wonders if he's spoken to Stillman.

Her heart thuds loudly in her ears and she flicks the flashlight on again, racing the beam over the walls and the roof of the bunker. The manhole is open but the night is cloudy and cool, and no light filters down into Lilly's prison.

"Tomorrow," she tells herself quietly, "John Smith will be tripped up, Rush. Tomorrow. You're finding a way out of here tomorrow."

She shivers and pulls a blanket around her shoulders and sits against the wall, on the bed with her back straight and her eyes wide, searching the darkness. Her ears are tuned to the faintest noises.

The flashlight flicks on and off until morning starts to show above, cold and grey.

xXx

Scotty stands with his hands in his coat pockets, watching the scene in the street and feeling very detached from everything. Police are interviewing extremely irritated neighbours, who all saw nothing. The dog squad is preparing to leave. The dogs tracked John Smith to the end of the block, before the scent vanished.

They have nothing. _Nothing._ Except the knowledge that Lilly thinks Scotty is dead, and she's afraid and being kept somewhere dark and possibly below ground.

Stillman claps a hand gently onto Scotty's shoulder and the detective jumps.

"Jeez," he breathes, holding a hand over his heart.

"Why don't you go home, Scotty?"

Scotty shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"No you're not." Stillman's voice has a hard edge to it and he gives Scotty a careful look. "Listen, son, those inspectors are just itching to get you on malpractice. Go home and get some rest and let them know you're doing everything right."

"Boss, I can't."

"I'm not asking, Scotty." Stillman's tone indicates that the conversation is over.

Scotty rubs his brow. His headache is pounding up against his skull. "You're gonna look into records of other wells and stuff around here, right? Like it sounds like he's got Lil down another well somewhere or somethin' and –"

"We'll do all that and have answers for you when you come to work in the morning," Stillman says. "Now go, Scotty."

He does. Slowly. He trudges down the front steps and hopes someone will give a shout with a sudden answer, like all the pieces of the puzzle have just fallen into place and someone has suddenly figured it out.

But that doesn't happen, of course. Instead, Scotty gets into his car and he drives home, his wipers slicing through the misty rain falling through the dark.

He sets his alarm carefully, intending on getting no more than three hours sleep. Three hours is enough to refresh him. In three hours he'll wake up and he'll go back to work and he'll find Lil.

He stretches out on his bed and rubs his eyes tiredly, staring up at his ceiling. "Don't worry, Lil," he murmurs, speaking to his dark, empty bedroom. "We're comin' for you. Just hang on."

xXx

Lilly is pulled violently from sleep by a harsh scraping noise, like metal on concrete. She sits up immediately, panic holding her breath tight in her chest. She clutches the flashlight tightly, though light is showing through the manhole. She curses herself for falling asleep.

The scraping noise starts again, loud and violent. She shivers and creeps forward. "Hello?"

The noise stops, and John Smith looks down at her. "Good morning, detective."

Her mouth is dry. She swallows hard. "What's that noise?"

He smiles down at her and holds up a trowel. "I'm just clearing the earth away from the top of the bunker."

"Why?" she asks.

He just smiles down at her before he disappears from view again and the scraping noise echoes back down to Lilly. She shivers. There's a horrible, tight feeling of anxiety in her stomach.

"Did you talk to Lieutenant Stillman?" she calls up, raising her voice over the noise of the blade scraping against the cement at the top of the bunker.

"I did," John Smith responds. The scraping stops and he looks down at her. "Your detective friend is no longer at the bottom of the well."

She bites her lip and nods. "Thank you," she says, "For doing that."

She's surprised at how much better she feels, knowing that Scotty's body has been recovered. It means closure for a lot of people, and she's relieved.

"Are you hungry?" John Smith asks.

She's not, but she lies. "Yes," she says.

He drops a paper bag down to her. More muffins, and a banana.

"I'm thirsty," she says after a moment.

"You can drink from the faucet down there," he answers pleasantly. "The water is clean. It filters down through a tank from over there." He points off to the side and Lily sighs. She peels the banana and breaks off small pieces, putting each one into her mouth and chewing slowly, trying to look as though she appreciates the food.

"Why are you clearing earth away from the top of the bunker?" she asks.

He doesn't answer her, and again the nerves and anxiety grip her body tightly. She swallows the last morsel of banana hastily.

"You can't lock me in!" she calls up to him. "I haven't given up hope! You told me you wait until they give up hope!"

She's cut off by the whining, shrill ring of steel drilling into concrete. She can't see what he's doing and it's driving her insane. She paces back and forth beneath him, a caged animal, watching dust float away in the air above the manhole.

"John!" she shouts at him. "What are you doing?"

The drill starts again. She can hear the rattle and grind of the bit spiralling down into the square of concrete surrounding the manhole. It seems to last forever and she can't figure out why he's doing it.

After a couple of minutes, it stops. Her ears are still ringing. She shouts up at him again. "What are you doing?"

He leans over the hole and looks down at her. He's wearing protective goggles and a dust mask and he pauses to remove them both before he looks quietly down at her.

"They don't know where to find you," he says. "The trail has gone cold."

Lilly gazes up at him for a moment before she bites back at him. "You don't know that."

He smiles. "Yes I do. I told you – I don't lie."

"You can't possibly know what evidence they have or what they're doing," Lilly snaps. "They won't stop looking."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Do you _really_ believe that, detective?" he asks. "Really? I'm sure you have seen your fair share of cold cases. People locked away in filing cabinets and boxes and folders; forgotten. Your case will be gathering dust by the end of the month."

She gives a hopeless little laugh, but her heart is racing. "They won't stop looking for me."

"They'll have to," John Smith answers.

"What did Stillman say?" she asks suddenly. "He spooked you, huh? So you come out here and you try to reinforce this ridiculous bunker?"

"It's not reinforcement," he says pleasantly. "It's just symbolism."

He drags the manhole cover back onto the bunker and Lilly is plunged into darkness.

The drilling starts again, metal on metal.

xXx

 _There are lights in odd places, all signifying cars and trucks and guns. Guns at the front of the house, guns at the back. Guns in the attic._

 _Scotty looks up at the window and his throat is dry. Lil is up there with George and he can't do anything about it. She's gotta talk her way out. Alone._

 _He's furious with her, and furious with himself and Stillman and the rest of the team for not realising she wouldn't just sit still in the homicide office._

 _He runs a hand over his hair, helpless and hopeless. Stillman has gone in through the front yard, a gun clutched in his hands, and Scotty is unbelievably relieved and unbelievably terrified all at the same time. The night is so stiflingly quiet._

 _There are people everywhere around him in their protective vests and helmets, guns on hips and in hands and guns resting on cars or fences or trees, all pointed up at that attic window, which is ridiculously distant._

 _Scotty can't imagine Lil walking her way out of there. Nobody has walked away from George before and she's all alone up there and he'll be toying with her like he did the first time they met..._

 _He shivers. The night is like dust settling on him, caking on his skin and his clothes. He can't move with the weight of it._

 _There are three shots from the attic._

 _He hears them all and he sees the hot flash of each one pulse up against the tiny attic window, and he can't move. His feet are rooted to the ground and he can taste bile and horror at the back of his throat. He stares up at the attic window as everyone around him moves. People run, and guns are raced into the house, surrounded by sweat and speed and adrenaline._

 _But Scotty is still and he watches the attic window and he waits for Lil's face to arrive there to let him know she's okay. It never comes._

xXx

Scotty's whole body is pounding and aching and drenched when he gasps and rolls over slowly. The alarm is ringing shrilly in his ear, and it has been for three minutes according to the time on the dial. He slams it with his palm and eases up into a sitting position.

Sweat soaks him.

He rests his elbows on his knees, stiff and sore with the bruising along his back. His head feels split in two.

The dream is scattered around him in threads and bits. He wishes he'd gotten to the end of it. He wishes he'd dreamed the part where Lil walked out of the house, white and weak with wide eyes and a tear-streaked face. He can remember the relief so clearly and it seems so unfair that the dream denied him the memory of that feeling.

Sometimes it's a different dream. The homicide office bathed in fluorescent lights and night, and Stillman bloody and pale. And the same thing again – Lil locked away in a little room with a maniac wanting her dead.

He shivers and rubs his hands over his face.

"Get up," he whispers to himself. He heaves himself off the bed and staggers drunkenly to the bathroom. Light is showing grey and cold through the windows.

He runs the shower and stands under the spray for a long time, washing the sweat and fear away.

Trying to.

He shaves carefully but his hands won't stop shaking. He can't seem to move very fast at all, and all the while his brain is screaming at him to get back to the office to see what's turned up in his absence. To hurry, hurry, hurry.

But he keeps his movements slow, because it hurts, and because he's too scared to go back and find that there's nothing new.

xXx

Lilly is still pacing back and forth, still staring up towards the manhole. Her neck is starting to hurt.

Her mind is racing. Barely a thought gets finished, it moves so fast.

 _Think_ , her mind whispers fiercely. _Your time is running out here, Rush. He's not interested in playing anymore. He wants to run and he's going to leave you here, this time. This is what he does. He keeps them and he talks to them and then he seals them in and he's sealing you in right now, so you've gotta work fast. Think. Think, think, think._

She looks up at the hole again. The drilling has stopped but he's still working busily. She can hear something rattling gently.

"Why are you locking me away so soon?" she asks, hoping she sounds furious and not terrified, which is how she feels.

"I've decided it would be prudent of me to leave Philadelphia," John Smith answers. "I just have one or two little things I need to tidy up before I go."

He holds his hand above the hole and she squints up at him. He's holding a padlock, thick and heavy. The shackle is open.

"I've been putting hinges on," he says. "And a bolt."

"Wow, now I really am stuck," she says sarcastically. "You got me, John."

He chuckles. "I know."

She glares at him. She's so full of furious hatred she can't think of a way to respond to him. She's tired, and worn, and it's all too much.

 _It's not fair,_ she thinks desperately. _If he was playing by the rules, I'd get him. If he would just stick to his pattern, I'd get him. If I wasn't so tired..._

He leans over the hole again, stretched out on the ground with his chin in his palm. The manhole cover is yawning open, now attached to the ground with long, thick hinges. He can swing it shut any time he likes and slide the bolt in place.

"I wish I'd met you sooner," he says dreamily. "I could have had so much fun with you."

"You still could!" Lilly blurts. "Admit it, John; I'm not done yet. It's not right, locking me away so soon."

He sighs and stares down at her. "It is a shame," he admits.

"So don't leave me down here," she says desperately. "Talk to me some more. I told you before, I'd tell you things..." She gazes up at him pleadingly, too tired and afraid to feel any shame in it.

He holds the open padlock up again. For a moment she hopes he'll drop it, and then she realises it won't make a difference anyway. Padlock or not, she can't get out.

"I don't have the key to this," he says.

She wipes her hands against her thighs. Her palms are slick with sweat. "Okay," she answers cautiously. "So what?"

"Symbolism," he says, "can do a lot to a person."

Lilly's eyes dart around her tiny, dark prison. "Uh-huh," she says softly. Her mouth is dry.

"Something as simple as a lock can take away someone's last little flare of hope," he breathes softly. "I wonder what the key will do. Hm?"

She looks up at him. "Who has the key?"

He smiles down at her. "I have to say goodbye, detective," he says. "Do look after yourself down there. You may be right, after all. They may look for you forever." He gives a soft chuckle that crawls up her spine and steals her breath.

"They will," she says desperately. Her breath comes in panicked sobs. "They'll look for me. They won't stop."

He leans forward a little, staring down at her with wide eyes. "Yes they will," he whispers. His voice carries clearly through the shadows. "You know as well as I do, detective, that they _will_ stop. _I_ am the one all those police want to find. It is _my_ photograph on the news reports and it is _my_ name in the news articles, detective. You are simply another one of my victims, and you will only be remembered as such."

She stares up at him and her breath won't stop sobbing from her. She can feel panic and tears hot behind her eyes. He's watching her break and she knows it but she can't stop it.

"People will forget who you are," he breathes excitedly. His eyes are alight and dancing. "They will _never_ forget me."

He slams the lid of the bunker closed and Lilly hears the new lock slide into place.

She stands in the dark, alone.

So alone.

xXx

Scotty buys a coffee from the cart in the street, but doesn't drink it. He just carries it in his hand as he makes his way up to the homicide office.

Before, he was running on adrenaline.

Now, he is exhausted and bruised and broken. Every step is a chore. All he wants to do is curl up and escape back into sleep again – even if it does bring unfinished dreams that finish in gunshots and uncertainty.

Homicide is quiet. Stillman is in his office. Already, his shirt sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up, like he's given up on any formality and he's ready to end the day.

"Boss," Scotty says in greeting. His voice is rough.

Stillman runs a careful eye over him, but blessedly doesn't mention Scotty's appearance, which the detective is sure must be wretched.

"Some news has just come in," Stillman says. "Jeffries and Vera have been out scouting hardware stores and the like, looking to see if anyone remembers John Smith purchasing those cinderblocks used to brick Brenda MacDowell in a few days ago."

"Someone recognised him?" Scotty asks breathlessly. Hope flares hot and high inside him and his exhaustion flees from every inch of him. Suddenly, he's a new man.

"He was in again early this morning," Stillman says, checking a notepad by his phone. "He didn't buy any cinderblocks."

"What did he buy?" Scotty asks nervously.

Stillman glances past Scotty's shoulder and nods. "Here come Vera and Jeffries now."

Scotty curses their timing. Instead of Stillman telling him answers immediately, he has to wait until everybody is gathered around, listening intently. Scotty fidgets impatiently, waiting for the new information so he can take action.

Vera holds his notepad in front of him, his eyes narrowed as he focuses on his untidy scrawl. Jeffries lays out identical copies of everything John Smith bought as Vera reads each item from the list.

"One hammer drill, masonry nails, nuts, bolts, one hammer, protective goggles, dust masks, a garden trowel, a pair of those big-ass hinges," he points, and Scotty glances at the items Jeffries drops on the desk, "and one bolt kit complete with key and padlock."

Scotty swallows. _One bolt kit, complete with key and padlock._

"That's a serious-looking drill," Kat says, reaching over and hefting it. "Hammer drill?"

"He's drilling into something hard, like brick or concrete," Stillman says. "Same reason for the goggles and the dust mask. You can't drill into something like that without it causing a mess."

"What about these hinges?" Vera asks, holding one up. He looks pale and Scotty can see his hand shaking. He realises nobody has had much sleep.

"They look like the hinges people put on their cellar doors," Kat says, putting the drill aside and picking up the other hinge.

Stillman agrees. "Coal bunker or cellar hinges," he says.

"He said Lil was down," Scotty says quietly. "He's got her locked in a cellar or somethin'?"

"Sounds like it," Jeffries agrees. "Though I'm not sure that explains drilling into concrete. Maybe some sort of old bunker or basement. Maybe there's no building left on top of it."

"Could explain why he didn't buy whatever he's attaching these hinges _to_ ," Vera says gruffly, turning one around in his hands. "One side goes into the concrete – what does the other side attach to?"

"He's working with ruins?" Kat guesses. "Maybe the door's there but there's nothing holding it on. Maybe he's got Lil cuffed but he doesn't want to keep her that way, so he's gotta put a door on."

Stillman nods and puts his hands on his hips, turning to look at the map Kat taped up on his walls hours and hours ago. "It doesn't seem like he's got Lil in a place near other people. She's a higher risk than the other women, and it was an impulsive move. I don't think he's taken her too far from the well where Scotty was found. There might be more out there. We'll get onto the county and get lists of anything official – but putting word out through the media for people to check their properties might be a good move, too. Any old mine shafts, wells or bunkers should be checked over."

Scotty nods. His breath is coming fast and his heart is hammering in his chest.

 _This is progress, right? We're getting somewhere... Right?_

"One of you Valens?"

Scotty turns at the sound of the voice. It belongs to a kid – twelve or thirteen, thin and ratty looking. He glances around at the other detectives with the sort of arrogance and confidence kids of his age seem to exude without being aware of it.

"I'm Valens," Scotty answers warily.

The kid thrusts out an envelope. "Guy in the street told me to give you this."

Stillman is on his feet immediately and the kid jumps nervously. "What guy?" Stillman asks.

The kid no longer looks brave. He shrugs. "Just some guy. He gave me fifty bucks. Said he'll give me another fifty if I take a business card from this Valens guy and give it back to him – to prove I come up here." He looks up at Scotty hopefully. "So can I have one of your business cards now? I gave you the envelope."

Scotty ignores him. He rips the envelope open and shakes the contents out into his palm.

One solitary brass key.

He sinks into his desk chair. He's already blocked out the whining teenager, being led away by Miller, who is telling him in no uncertain terms that he'll be making no more money because "the guy" will be gone.

Jeffries is on the phone to the front office, demanding that they send officers out to thread a net through the surrounding streets. Demanding that they find the ghost that is John Smith.

Scotty hears it all through a thick fog that clouds his head and his senses. He rubs his thumb over the key. His heart is like lead. Suddenly he knows there's nothing more Lil can do to save herself, because John Smith doesn't have any intention of playing his normal game or following his normal pattern. He's cut it brutally short, and he wants everyone to know.

"He's locked her in," Scotty says quietly, the key small and useless in his hand. "He's done with her. He's locked her away."

She's alone, again.

And he's on the outside, again.

xXx


	9. Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet in this chapter - just in case you don't recognise it and you think I'm actually clever enough to have said it ;-) All credit to Mr. Shakespeare for that little bit.

The key burns hot and heavy in Scotty's pocket, weighing him down and adding to the sense of time falling away all around him.

He paces back and forth in front of the map. Around him, people are on phones, enquiring about old wells and bomb shelters. The results they get are either disappointingly-vague or hopelessly overwhelming.

Out on the streets, uniformed police march by crowds of office workers and shoppers with pictures of John Smith, desperate to catch him after knowing he was there just fifteen minutes previously. With each passing minute he's increasing the gap.

Scotty doesn't think he'll be back.

Stillman sets the receiver of his phone back in its cradle and leans back in his chair. He has almost two pages filled in his notepad, detailing possible locations Lilly could be held.

"Any luck, boss?" Scotty asks.

"Almost too much, Scotty," Stillman replies wearily, flipping through his notes. "With this, and the locations the others are looking into, we've still got a huge search area on our hands. Resources aren't going to stretch this far. We'll have to narrow it down."

Scotty nods eagerly. "Let's narrow it down, then." He paces back and forth in front of Stillman's desk. He has a cup of coffee in his hands but it's half-cold and completely forgotten. He talks aloud, sometimes trailing off and completing sentences and thoughts in his head before another new possibility runs on and curls itself desperately into the air.

"He went out and bought supplies to fix a door on somewhere," he says. His eyes are glazed and cast towards the floor as he walks. "Somewhere with concrete or stone or brick. Somewhere that already has a means of keepin' Lil trapped or shut in. Maybe it's not even necessary to lock her in there, maybe he just wanted to do it because that's what he did with the others. Maybe it's all part of his pattern and not an indication that Lil can get out at all..."

He paces back and forth, murmuring to himself and treading circles. Stillman watches him quietly.

Vera bursts into the office, energy and noise crackling around him. He breathes hope and life into the tired office.

"They got John Smith."

xXx

Lilly's tears have run dry.

The dark presses in on her, quiet and cold. She can hear her own breath, and the shadows whispering to themselves. She can feel them consuming her. She flicks the flashlight on again and shines it around the walls of the bunker. They appear to her like blank canvases, and she remembers stories of prisoners in POW camps writing their thoughts and hopes and final messages on the walls around them. She wonders if Brenda did the same; if the other women John Smith locked away wrote their minds on brick.

She thumbs the flashlight off again, and the darkness races in to claim the space back.

 _What will my last thoughts be?_

xXx

Scotty stares through the glass at John Smith. He sits patiently, waiting, his face pale and ghostly beneath the light that hangs from the ceiling.

Stillman is preparing himself to go in and talk to him. He puts a reassuring hand on Scotty's shoulder. "You'll get your shot," he promises. "He'll want to talk to you."

Scotty just nods, not taking his eyes from the figure of John Smith. Everything has been leading to this point – he has _craved_ this. He has craved seeing this scum in front of him, he has wanted to pull him from the shadows and camouflage of crowds and beat answers out of him. Now he can't string a proper thought together. Now, his mind has collapsed in on itself under this odd, new relief. He doesn't know what to do with himself.

He watches Stillman enter the room and sit opposite John Smith.

John Smith smiles. "Are you the lieutenant I spoke to?"

"Yes," Stillman confirms. "Where's Detective Rush, John?"

John Smith looks amused. "Into the hard questions already? Don't you want to chat a little? Exchange niceties?"

"I've got no time for niceties," Stillman answers. "Where's my detective?"

"Locked away. I believe your other detective has the key." John Smith smiles again and glances towards the mirror behind Stillman. His gaze lands to the left of Scotty, but he can feel the full weight of it pressing down on him.

"Why'd you have to lock her in, John? Was she going to get out?"

"No," John Smith answers, flicking his gaze back to Stillman. "She won't get out."

"But you had to lock her in," Stillman says again. "Are you afraid she'll find her way out?"

"She won't get out." Another smile plays around John Smith's mouth. "She'll die in that hole."

Scotty's chest clenches tightly around his heart. He keeps his eyes locked on John Smith.

"How'd you find that hole?" Stillman asks. His voice is soft and husky. His hands are clasped on top of the table. "You didn't pay for it."

"I didn't want to take her to one of my other places," John Smith says quietly. "She deserves somewhere special. She's not like the others."

"No?"

"No. Most of my work has already been done." John Smith smiles at him and leans forward a little. "You must have seen it, lieutenant. The walls behind her eyes, crumbling down, bit by bit. I didn't need as much time with her. She gave up almost before I left her the first time." He chuckles and shakes his head. "She was so desperate to have the other detective found. He was all she'd talk about."

Scotty's sweat is cold on his skin. He watches, feeling sick.

"Why does Lilly think Detective Valens is dead?" Stillman asks. "I thought you only told the truth, John. Did you lie to her? Did you tell her he was dead?"

"It wasn't a lie," John Smith says, though he looks uncomfortable. "I thought he was dead, too. I made the mistake of putting the puzzle pieces together before I had them all in my hands. I found out later he was alive. I saw him."

"Where?"

"Outside, having coffee. With you." John Smith gives a small smirk. "You both looked so tired."

Scotty's jaw cracks as he clenches his teeth. _I sat there and I looked at those people walking past. I sat there and I thought about how easy it would be for him to blend in, and the son of a bitch was watching us the whole time._

"I told her I would tell you where the body of your detective was," John Smith continues. He looks down at his hands. "I neglected to correct my earlier statements by saying his body still contained a beating heart and breathing lungs." He gives soft chuckle and looks towards the mirror again.

Scotty is sweating. He wants to race into the room and rip John Smith limb from limb, but he's frozen to the spot. He can hear his own breath sputtering from him as he struggles to wrap his mind around each new word and each new fact that emerges.

"Did Lilly feel better after you told her you'd spoken to me?"

"I believe so," John Smith answers pleasantly. "I believe she took it to mean she had some influence over me. You should have seen the little sparkle of hope in her eyes." He tips his head back and laughs madly, letting it leap out loudly into the air.

Stillman rushes to his feet, kicking his chair back and shoving the table forward. It hits John Smith in the chest and he gasps and slumps forward. His body still jerks and trembles with chuckling laughter. He lets new words whisper out against the surface of the table.

"She's all alone," he says softly, a grin on his face. "She clings so tightly to her job. I can tell, looking around her home. She doesn't live there. She lives here. In an office. Working." He chuckles again and straightens up slowly, smiling up into Stillman's furious face. "She clings to her career but it's destroying her from the inside out. She's alone down there with all the monsters this job has given her, and there's _nothing_ you can do about it." He sneers at Stillman, and laughs again, curling his arms around his stomach and resting his head back down on the table.

Stillman leaves, slamming the door closed behind him.

xXx

 _"The paramedics are on their way up, Lil. Hang on."_

 _She gazes up at Scotty. There's blood on his shirt. She wonders if it's Stillman's, or Romeo's, or hers._

 _It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. Her job is dangerous enough, but somehow she manages to find the worst of it and trap herself inside with it until she's staring down the barrel of destruction itself. And yet she returns, again and again, to face a new day and risk the same thing again, telling herself it's because she loves the job and she's good at the job. But she knows if she doesn't go into work she has to face being alone and still, and she can't do that; not with those monsters that come to her in the night in the form of George and shadows._

 _In the end, she goes to work to avoid the shadows, and it only brings her more._

These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss consume...

 _"Lil? You still with me?"_

 _"Yeah," she breathes. The light above Scotty's head has cast him into shadow. She feels dizzy. She tries to look up at him but it's hurting too much. The light behind him is too bright. Scotty's hands are hard on her shoulder. She can feel her blood leaking past his fingers._

 _"You want me to call Chris, Lil?"_

 _She wants to tell him she doesn't know where her sister is. And then, she doesn't want to tell him. It's too shameful to admit._

 _"I'll find her, Lil, okay? I'll tell her."_

 _"She won't care," Lilly mumbles. "I got no one, Scotty."_

 _She can feel his wet hand against her cheek. Wet with her blood, sticky and warm. She tries once more to look up at him. He's closer now and she can see his eyes and she can feel his warm breath on her clammy skin._

 _"You got me, Lil."_

xXx

Lilly wakes with tears on her skin. She desperately tries to separate dream from memory, but she can't remember Scotty being there with her in the observation room.

 _Of course he must have been,_ she thinks, sitting up and curling her arms around her knees. _Of course he was there. He was there; why can't I remember him? Was that real?_

She wipes her face on her sleeve, but keeps her eyes closed. If her eyes are closed, she can pretend the room past her eyelids is light and comfortable. Not this dark, locked hell.

 _Scotty shot through the mirror,_ she tells herself. _Of course he was in the observation room. He was the first one in there. He must have been with me. He must have been there. He must have tried to stop the bleeding..._

She rocks back and forth as she desperately tries to remember, but there are other voices in her head telling her that she's alone in the dark and she needs to find a way out of the bunker, because she's got nobody else, now.

 _I have Scotty,_ she thinks desperately, and then she realises that his broken body is probably on a table in the morgue, and she wails and wraps her arms around herself, sobbing uncontrollably.

The walls around her press in on her, but they are still bare. She has nothing to write on them.

She has no one to write to.

xXx

John Smith stopped laughing almost an hour ago, and has been alone since, sitting beneath the light in the interrogation room. He waits patiently, staring straight ahead, until the door opens and a detective sits opposite him, placing a small stack of papers on the table. John Smith smiles at him, but receives no smile back.

Scotty aches. There is a deep throb in time to the beat of his heart at the back of his head. He can almost _hear_ it, sending dull waves of pain down his shoulders and back.

He unclenches his jaw and tries to keep his voice soft. "Tell me where she is."

John Smith looks back at him, pale, but curious and alert.

"If I tell you where your detective is you'll just run out and find her and I won't have the answers to any of my questions," he answers. He sits rigidly in the chair, and his eyes are sharply focused on Scotty.

"What questions?" Scotty asks. He's doing his best to keep his frustration back. Usually Lil is there to balance him. She can put a hand on his arm or snap at him and call him off if he loses his temper. Good cop, bad cop. Fire and ice.

He can feel her whole life and soul sitting on his shoulders.

John Smith tilts his head slightly, like a bird sitting on a high branch regarding its prey before it swoops.

"What questions?" Scotty asks again, unable to keep a lid on his impatience.

"What is she to you?" John Smith asks curiously. "You're so angry I took her away from you. Most people are afraid. Most people beg."

"How would you know?" Scotty snaps.

John Smith smiles and shrugs. "Nobody notices me. I stand behind them in the supermarket or in church and I hear their conversations and their prayers. I know how they are after I take their women away from them."

Scotty can feel all the coffee he's consumed roiling around in his empty stomach. For a moment or two he thinks he's going to be sick and he forces everything back, his teeth clenched tight and his breath locked inside his chest.

His brain screams at him to kill the man sitting opposite him – to throw him against the wall and lay into him with fists and kicks until there's nothing left but a bloody mess.

But physically he can't move, because he's so hurt and so frightened, and deep down he knows that getting angry isn't going to save Lil.

"Of course, this time it's different," John Smith muses, his hands folded in his lap. "I know so very little about your detective."

"Use her name," Scotty snaps immediately. He is surprised with himself. He isn't sure when he registered the fact John Smith always refers to Lilly as _detective._ But Lil wouldn't approve of that. Lil always demands that people look at photos of their victims and that they use their names.

 _She ain't a victim, yet. She's just... lost._

He struggles to justify things and shape them into something that keeps him calm.

John Smith has that infuriating smile back on his face again. "Tell me what she is to you," he says.

Scotty glares at him. The light above the table feels particularly hot and the rest of the room seems to fade away and stretch on forever. It is just the two of them here under the light. Stillman and the others have been entirely forgotten.

"Tell me," John Smith says again. He's starting to sound annoyed and Scotty feels a slight sense of satisfaction. But it's a very small positive in what seems to be a deep pit of negatives.

"She's my partner," Scotty says softly.

John Smith smiles and raises his eyebrows. "Ah," he says softly. "Your partner."

Scotty can feel the silence creeping in on him, settling on his skin like sweat. His mind races but he can't figure out how to trip John Smith up. There's no bargaining, here. John Smith will accept no offer even if one is put forth to him – Scotty knows that. He also knows that John Smith feels no guilt over his crimes.

If there _is_ something that can trip him up, it's not a sense of decency or justice.

Scotty looks down at the surface of the table, fidgeting slightly with the papers in front of him. He's not even sure what they say or why he brought them with him. Sometimes it's all just part of the act, but John Smith isn't bothered by acts or facts or falsities presented by sheets of paper.

"Is she hurt?" Scotty asks after a moment. His throat is dry and his voice hitches on the final word of his question.

"No," John Smith answers after a slight pause. "I don't think so."

"But you don't know for sure?" He keeps his eyes down on the papers in front of him, his finger picking at a dog-eared corner of Brenda MacDowell's missing-persons report.

"It's possible she has a broken nose," John Smith concedes. "And she is very thin, of course, though that is hardly my fault. Beyond that I would say her physical condition is satisfactory."

Scotty nods without thinking about it, his brow furrowed as he realises just how much weight Lil has lost lately and how that could count against her if they don't find her soon.

"I would like a truthful answer to my question, detective," John Smith says in a clear voice.

Scotty looks up at him, hating him absolutely. John Smith is pale and strained-looking, but at the same time he has managed to keep a quiet, calm look on his face, and his eyes look intelligent and interested. It all infuriates Scotty, who is almost boneless with exhaustion.

"What question?" he asks tightly.

"What does your detective mean to you?" John Smith leans forward.

Scotty can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

"Everything!" he snaps eventually, half-rising out of his seat to lean over the table towards John Smith. "Everything, okay? She's my partner. She's been my partner from the first moment I walked in here and since then she's had my back and I've had hers.

"Every single day I walk into this office and I deal with this shitty job and I deal with shitty people like you, John Smith, and Lil is there beside me every step of the way."

He takes the key from his pocket and slams it down onto the surface of the table before he sits back into his chair, breathing loudly, his eyes locked furiously on the man opposite him. "I'm gonna find her," he said. "And if she's hurt, I'll break your fucking neck."

xXx


	10. Red

**xXx  
**

Scotty can feel the weight of his own body crushing in on him. Everything is an effort. There's a ringing in his ears and his eyes feel strained and too big for their sockets. Everything is shrouded in a red mist of exhaustion.

"Tell me what you want," he says desperately, looking across the table to John Smith. "Tell me what it'll take to get Lil back, and I'll do it. What do you want, John?"

John Smith smiles. "Bargaining usually comes after anger."

Scotty swallows and shakes his head desperately. "No. Just – just tell me where she is. Please. Don't drag this out."

"Depression comes next," John Smith says, chuckling quietly. "You'll give up. You'll start thinking she's already dead. You'll start thinking there's no point –"

"No," Scotty says immediately. His voice is hard and sharp beneath the halo of light they're sitting in. "I ain't giving up on her. I'm gonna find her."

John Smith gives a slow smirk. "You say that now, detective. A year from now you'll feel different. The hope fades, eventually. From everyone. I've seen it."

"We found Brenda," Scotty says softly. "She's alive. She's home. Safe. I'm gonna find Lil, too."

John Smith leans forward slightly. His voice is a whisper. "Only I know where she is." He gives Scotty a small smile. "She's mine. She'll always be mine, now."

Scotty swallows. The ringing in his ears is growing louder. "Why'd you take her?" he asks desperately. "Why?"

"She intrigued me," John Smith drawls. "But I overestimated her a little. She broke very quickly."

Scotty rubs his palms over his face and leans his elbows on the table in front of him. "Tell me what happened." He stares down at the table, not wanting to hear it, and at the same time, desperate to know every detail.

"She fought me, at first," John Smith says with a sly smile on his face. "I'd near knocked her out and she still fought. Kicking and pulling and struggling. She kept calling for you." He chuckles. "Her mouth was full of her own blood and she was _calling_ for you, _screaming_ for you." He grins and his eyes glitter.

Scotty's stomach is roiling. He knows he's going to be sick but he can't move.

"I handcuffed her and I put her in the back of the car. She passed out for a little while. She wouldn't talk to me when she woke up. She cried over you. She didn't start talking until I got her out of the car."

Scotty gazes back at him. He has never hated someone so much. "What did she talk about?"

John Smith snickers. "She didn't want to be locked in the dark. She begged me not to lock her in. She told me she'd share all of her secrets with me; all of her fears, if I just left her with air and light."

"And did you?" Scotty asks desperately, his heart beating rapidly.

John Smith smiles at him and stares back quietly. His eyes are bright and Scotty can see amusement sparkling in them. He can see the smile turning the corners of John Smith's mouth upwards, and he can hear the silence growing louder and louder, joining the ringing in his ears, mocking him as the answers fail to come.

Scotty slams his fist down on the table and the key on its surface jumps up and catches the light. "Tell me where she is!" he roars.

John Smith gazes back at him steadily. "No."

The door opens quietly and Jeffries pokes his head in. "Scotty." He nods his head back towards the main office and Scotty snatches his papers up irritably, glaring at John Smith. He pockets the key again, placing it in his breast pocket, and emerges into the light of the bullpen. It hurts, out here.

"They've been looking over the car they found John Smith driving this afternoon," Stillman says, noticing Scotty has joined the small crowd gathered in front of his office. "There's a lot of dirt and leaf debris on the driver's side. It looks like he's been trekking through the woods. Lil's probably still out there."

"We've got some people driving out around some of the bigger properties out that way, asking if anyone's seen the car," Vera says, holding up a photo of a green station wagon. "Anyone's spotted in the past few days, it'll narrow our search area down some."

Scotty runs his hand through his hair desperately and looks at the map. _She could be anywhere. She could be anywhere and we could walk right over the top of her and never find her, ever._

He remembers John Smith telling him the next step is giving up, and he grits his teeth.

 _I ain't givin' up, Lil. Don't worry. I'll find you._

xXx

Lilly is wide awake. She's sure of this, but she pinches herself hard, anyway, because the bunker is flooded with orange light and Romeo is sitting opposite her, on a wooden chair she's never seen, next to the basin. She can see him clearly, though the light fades and throbs slowly, casting him into shadow before bringing him back again. Sometimes he looks closer. Sometimes he has George's face.

Blood runs down his chest.

She stares at him, too afraid to take her eyes away from him. _This isn't real. It's a dream. You think you're awake, but you're not. It's a dream. A dream._

"Blood," Romeo says.

She touches her chest and she can feel it, wet and warm. Her breath hitches in her throat.

He speaks. "And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead."

 _I'm not dead,_ she thinks in terror. She presses her fingers against the warm wound on her shoulder. Her blood runs thick and fast, like strawberry syrup, sliding down her fingers and her arm. She can smell it.

 _I'm not dead._

"Yes you are," Romeo whispers. He smiles at her.

"Scotty," she breathes.

"And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried."

"No," Lilly croaks. "No, stop."

The blood runs faster, and there are new holes in her chest. She can feel it all running out of her and soaking the bedding beneath her. She can't stop it. She sobs and tries to press her hands against each new welling of blood.

Romeo stands. He is all red, and glistening. The orange light throbs against his chest to the drumming beat of Lilly's heart.

"You took my Juliet!" he shrieks, pointing his finger at Lilly. "We all die alone, because of you!"

"No," she gasps. "No, no."

"He died alone at the bottom of a well, because of _you,_ " Romeo bellows, his face inches from hers.

Her eyes widen and she flattens herself against the wall. The blood runs between them and she can see it on the walls and the floor and everywhere; so much blood, and the light throbs and whirls and distorts everything.

She's going to drown in the red. She presses her wet hands over her eyes, gasping, dying, and the orange light fades, and Romeo's face fades, but now it's the hospital and somehow that's worse. She's still so alone and they're forcing her to say it; they're forcing her to wrack her weakened mind for just one name.

One name. Someone to be with her as the lights race by overhead.

 _But there's no one._

She screams when she realises the bunker is dark and there is no blood and no light, and she doesn't know if it was a dream or if she's losing her mind. She runs her flashlight over the walls and she stumbles from corner to corner, tearing at the walls with her fingernails, her sobs weakening her body with every desperate breath; with every new attempt to tear herself free from the nightmares which cling to her in waking.

She sinks to the floor, quivering; exhausted. It's dark, but the world swims in front of her eyes, and it's all still tinted red, as though the blood is filling her up from the inside now and it's rising up behind her pupils.

The bunker fades from view again. The hospital lights are bright and white and the bedding is clean and stiff with starch.

"It's a dream," she gasps, rocking back and forth, holding herself, the flashlight beam wavering as she trembles. "It's a dream. Wake up. Wake up. The bunker. Not the hospital. The bunker. Dark. No blood." She hiccups and squeezes her eyes closed, but the flashes behind her eyelids are as vivid as ever, and she doesn't know where she is and she doesn't know why she can't wake up from these separate, interchanging nightmares.

 _Her arms are like lead on the bed and she can't move. Death has made her slow._

 _She can hear voices. She can hear Vera and Jeffries murmuring, though they are in the next room and it seems like miles, to Lilly. She can hear Stillman, and Miller. She can hear them all talking._

 _The doctor is closer. There are fingers against the pulse in her wrist. "We haven't been able to find any family. Who should we contact?"_

 _There is another hand, warm, gentle, strong. It clasps her smaller hand carefully and she hears Scotty, close and quiet, before everything goes black again – the bunker and the hospital; everything, black._

 _"Everyone who loves her is already here."_

xXx

Scotty pulls the door to the cell closed and is gratified when he sees the uncomfortable look on John Smith's face.

"Don't like being locked up, do you?" Scotty asks quietly.

John Smith gives him a smile, though it looks somewhat weak. "Don't know anybody who does." He wraps his hands around the bars of the cell and looks out into the corridor at Scotty. "Why am I down here? I was willing to keep talking."

"Unless you're talkin' about Lil, I'm not interested in hearing it," Scotty answers. "I'm goin' out to find her."

John Smith chuckles. "You won't find her."

Scotty leans against the bars. He's too exhausted to stand straight, but he can't stop now. "Yes, I will."

"Desperate to be her hero again?" John Smith breathes excitedly. "Desperate to save her?"

"Whenever she needs savin', I'll be there to rescue her, yeah," Scotty answers, narrowing his eyes. "And when I find her, _one_ of us is gonna kick your ass, and I'm bettin' it'll be her."

John Smith laughs and sinks slowly onto the bed against the wall. "The detective I left locked away is a different detective to the one you remember. She has nothing left to keep her together."

Scotty shakes his head and leans his forehead against the cool, unforgiving bars of the cell. "She's got people lookin' for her, to let her out," he says. "No one is ever gonna want _you_ out of there."

He rakes his fingers along the bars of the cell as he leaves.

xXx

 _Maybe I'm dying._

The thought is very loud and the bunker is very quiet. The blood, the red, Romeo... it's all gone. And the hospital has gone, too. Memories and nightmares intermingle, often one and the same.

Lilly is exhausted and remains still and limp on the mattress. Her fingers are torn and bloody, though she can only vaguely remember scrabbling desperately at the walls, trying to dig her way through stone. She stays still, determined not to disturb the odd peace she's found herself in.

 _If this is dying, it's not so bad._

Somewhere else, deep down inside her, another voice tells her it's ridiculous for her to believe in death so soon. She hasn't been locked away without food or water for that long, after all.

 _I've been dying for a long time before this._

She's dizzy. The panic she suffered earlier left her sweat-drenched and she knows she should be trying to drink from the faucet and keeping her fluids up, but she can't. All she can do is watch the dark shift in front of her eyes like a curtain. It tricks her, sometimes. Sometimes there are faces, and voices.

But deep down she knows she's alone, and as time drags by, she realises it will stay that way.

xXx

The afternoon stretches on, and it's beautiful. Scotty hates it for being so warm and full of sunshine. He glares at the blue sky as though it is a traitor to him.

He's not sure how much longer any of them can keep going. He is running on fumes, and everyone else appears the same way. Stillman has stopped trying to convince him to go home, and Scotty is grateful.

He rubs his forehead as Stillman drives the car up yet another long, sunshine-dappled driveway. He glimpses a house through the trees. Another house, another door, more questions, more driving.

The afternoon is stretching on and on.

Stillman knocks and they wait for someone to come to the front of the house. Desperate to avoid the map-papered walls of the homicide office, the team are out chasing up possible sightings on the car John Smith was driving.

It's tedious and it eats up their time, but there is a satisfaction gained from working the frustratingly-large net Lil is lost in, and knowing that John Smith is back at the precinct, sweating in a jail cell.

Stillman is warm and polite as a woman answers the door to them. Scotty listens distractedly, raking his eyes across the neatly-kept yard, searching for anything that might trigger some sort of realisation or clue.

The woman peers at the picture Stillman has handed to her. "I may have passed him on the main road a couple of times," she says. "I can't be sure."

Scotty grits his teeth. _Think!_ his mind barks. _Think harder! Did you see him or not? Don't waste our goddamn time._

"Any information you could give us would be helpful," Stillman says. He sounds gentle and tired.

"Let me ask my kids," the woman says. "We've been driving back and forth all weekend because they've had baseball games. Maybe they noticed him." She invites them in and they stand in her open living room, uncomfortable and itching to leave because it feels like they've stopped.

If they've stopped, Lil won't be found.

Scotty fidgets as the woman disappears to shout up the stairs. He can feel another day slipping away from them.

The woman's teenage children trudge down the stairs, looking a little wary of the men standing in their living room. They look at the photograph Stillman hands over as he talks, explaining how important it is to find the man who drove it.

"Haven't seen that one," the older boy says, shrugging sullenly. "But there was a silver car around a couple of days ago, up near Murphy's Road."

Scotty feels a bullet of hope hit him hard in the chest. "You ever seen it around before?"

"Nah. No one goes up there anyway. There's no house at the end of Murphy's Road. It's just a dead end. I thought maybe someone was driving around because they want to build a house up there or something."

"Nothing up there at all?" Stillman asks.

The mother speaks up from behind her son. "There used to be a house, years and years ago," she offers. "There's not been anything there for twenty years. Everything burned to the ground."

Stillman and Scotty exchange a glance and Scotty can feel his hear hammering blood through his limbs. He feels alive and awake.

 _The house burned to the ground, but what's still left there?_

"No chance of any ruins still there? Anything like a bomb shelter or a basement?" Stillman asks. His voice is clear and sharp and Scotty can sense the hope and excitement in his voice too. This new, tangible, heady emotion that comes from something so ridiculously small. Luck. The fleeting observation by a teenage boy as he's being driven to a baseball game.

"I don't know," the woman says apologetically. "If it was anything like our house, maybe. We had an old wine cellar out the back, but we bricked it up. My husband thought it was a death trap."

"Could we take a look at it?" Stillman asks.

She looks surprised, but she nods, and she leads them out into the back yard into the sunshine. The teenagers trail after them silently, curious and excited.

The old wine cellar doesn't offer them much information. It's been covered by a raised garden bed and brick path.

"What did it look like before the makeover?" Scotty asks.

The woman shrugs, suddenly looking flustered. "I don't know. It was years ago; before the children. It was just a cellar. I never liked it because it was separate to the house, and it seemed so deep. The stairs had all rotted away. We just bricked it up and forgot about it – we had no use for it. But it's still under there. We didn't fill it in. People rarely do, right? They're just covered over and forgotten."

Stillman nods. "Thanks for your time."

He claps Scotty on the back and they walk around the side of the house, back towards their car, and Scotty's heart is drumming, drumming, drumming. The red fog in front of his eyes has lifted and everything seems bright and clear. He can hear Stillman on the phone, directing someone to find Murphy's Road and meet them there.

Scotty knows this is it. He knows the silver car was the car he and Lil left in to transport John Smith back to Philly, and he knows that John Smith found the abandoned cellar in the middle of the woods and decided to keep Lilly there. He knows.

He takes the key from his pocket and clutches it in his hand.

xXx


	11. Rush

Scotty isn't aware of how fast Stillman is driving until the car skids to a halt, fishtailing on gravel and wet leaves and throwing them both against their seatbelts. They are both out of the car in seconds. Stillman's eyes are eagle-sharp and taking in every detail, but Scotty is too impatient to stand back and observe. He starts calling for his partner.

"Lil!"

The road ends and widens out. Two gate posts with no fence stand beneath towering trees budded in early green. There is no sign of a house. No sign that a house was ever there, except for the two lonely gateposts.

Scotty desperately searches for a clearing or a sign of sunken earth that might indicate an old basement.

"Don't wander off, Scotty," Stillman warns. "I'm getting the dog unit down here and I don't want you treading over anything."

"It's rained," Scotty says impatiently. "They won't find anything."

"Stay put." Stillman gives him a firm look.

Scotty grits his teeth and keeps his feet treading within the same narrow search loop, calling for Lilly. "Rush!" he calls. "Rush!"

He keeps his fists clenched in an effort to hold in all his anger and anxiousness and hope. He feels sick with it all. Suddenly he wants John Smith here. He wants to hold him by the scruff of his neck and force him to pace over every inch of the leaf-littered ground until he gives up Lilly's location.

Scotty runs his hand over his hair, causing it to stick up, and searches the ground for any tell-tale drag marks or disturbance.

 _Maybe this isn't the place._

He forces the thought back with surprising ferocity. _Of course it is. It is. She's here somewhere. I know it..._

"Lilly!" His voice roars through the trees, but there isn't so much as an echo to answer him.

Others start to arrive. Vera and Miller skid to a halt even more impressive than the one Stillman slid into earlier. Jeffries phones for news and then says he's heading back to the precinct to see if he can get any other answers out of John Smith. Uniformed officers arrive. The dog unit arrives, the dogs barking and snapping playfully until they're let out on the ground and they dart back and forth busily, searching for a scent.

 _She smells like rosewater and lavender,_ Scotty thinks helplessly, watching them and waiting for them to find that faint, bewitching smell he had never consciously noticed. He can smell it now as though Lil is beside him and he closes his eyes briefly, staggering slightly as faintness overcomes him for the briefest of seconds.

He grips the key in his sweaty palm and promises, once again, that he'll find her.

xXx

Lilly waits in the dark, her flashlight clutched in her hands. She flicks it on and runs it over the bare wall in front of her. Messages run through her mind and she wonders which one she should leave them. She wonders who will be the one to finally read it.

She wonders if it will ever be read at all.

She lays her head down on the pillow and curls into a ball. She has nothing to say.

xXx

The sun is setting. The forest glows misty yellow as bands of men and women comb through the trees. Scotty's pace is staggered and uneven. He knows that if he falls he will not have the strength to stand again.

The site of the old house is far back from the road, well away from the gate posts. Crumbled bricks from the old chimney are the only indication that the clearing once held something within. Clumps of daisy and lavender grow wild and scattered across the ground, seeking patches of sunlight through the trees, their flowers new and shy in the cool evening air.

"Lilly!" His voice is hoarse. His throat is raw. The thought of them being in the wrong place is starting to revisit him more and more frequently. For a moment he wants to fling the key into the woods.

 _It doesn't matter, anyway. We ain't gonna find her._

The ground is damp. Leaves and dirt stick to his shoes. Sweat and worry stick to his skin.

Scotty stops and leans against a towering tree, its branches fledged with waxy green leaves. He redials the same number he's been calling all afternoon, and Jeffries answers on the first ring.

"Still not talking, Scotty. He's just sitting there."

"Let me talk to him." He's reached the end of his tether. He's going to break and beg and plead for John Smith to tell him where she is.

Jeffries doesn't ask questions. He just hands his phone over to John Smith, who is apparently sitting nearby, smug and comfortable.

"Hello, detective."

"Tell me where she is," Scotty says desperately, looking up at the darkening sky. "Please."

"You haven't found her? Oh dear."

"Whatever you want, okay? I'll fight for you to avoid the needle, I'll have you transferred to wherever you want, I'll –"

John Smith chuckles. "I am not interested in bargaining, detective. I have lost my game. It was a risk I prepared for long ago and I have had time to adjust to it."

" _Please_ ," Scotty says through gritted teeth.

"You will gradually come to accept your loss," John Smith says, in a tone that Scotty assumes is supposed to be comforting.

Scotty opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He's drained, and angry, and sad. After a moment he ends the call silently and slips his cell phone back into his pocket.

"Scotty!" Stillman waves him over, looking grey and drawn.

Scotty staggers over as quickly as he can. His feet are numb and won't cooperate. "You found somethin'?"

"No." Stillman looks grim. "We've searched the site of the house. There's no bunker."

"So maybe it's off away, somewhere," he says, waving his hand towards the woods. "We can't stop –"

"She's not here, Scotty." Stillman wipes his hand over his face.

"She has to be," Scotty whispers desperately. "She _has_ to be here. This is the closest we've got. We can't be wrong..." His throat closes up on him and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. He paces back and forth, muttering to himself. "The car was seen near here," he says. "There can't be too many cars travelling these roads..."

"There's no bunker here, Scotty," Stillman says gently.

Scotty looks up and shakes his head, breathing heavily. "We're forcing the puzzles pieces to fit," he says. "John Smith said I did that earlier... We've got to step back and look at this again..." He breaths and closes his eyes, wracking his mind for everything they know.

Nothing.

"It's all assumptions," he sobs desperately. "The silver car could have been someone else's; not the car Lil and I took. The dirt and debris in the car John Smith was driving could have been there from the driver of the car before he stole it. We've got _nothing._ "

He leans back against Stillman's car. He can almost see the shadows growing deeper and darker as the sun fades, as though time is draining away so rapidly he can identify it physically.

"Let's go back to the precinct and talk to John Smith again," Stillman says wearily.

"Jeffries says he's not talking," Scotty answers miserably.

"Maybe he'll talk to you." Stillman gives a shout to Vera and Vera waves, looking worried and helpless as he watches the car turn and pull away. The uniformed officers are starting to return from their crawl through the woods.

Scotty leans his head against the cool glass of the window and watches the trees pass by. "She's alive," he says softly. "She's alone and afraid somewhere."

Stillman clears his throat softly, but doesn't answer.

"This is my fault," Scotty says suddenly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Marching into the middle of the woods in the dark like that with no backup. I told her it was a bad idea but she wouldn't –"

"It's no one's fault, Scotty," Stillman answers, keeping his tired eyes fixed on the winding road ahead. "It happened. We just have to try and fix it."

Scotty watches the trees flashing by. The light is blue as evening grabs hold of the day and forces it under.

"Stop!" he cries, scrabbling at his seatbelt. "Stop!"

Stillman slides the car into another skid and Scotty has his door open before they've come to a complete halt. He scrambles across the leaf-littered ground to a gap in the trees. The path is thin and twisting, disappearing into the thick grove of trees.

Stillman stands beside him and looks down the path. "It's just a rabbit trail, Scotty..." His voice fades off and Scotty pushes on through the branches. The path is patchy and thin – too rough and vague to be a proper walking track, but too wide to be tracks between rabbit warrens.

 _Everyone drove past it._ His heart hammers in his chest as he follows it between the trees. _Nobody was looking for it because we'd already forced the pieces of the puzzle into place._

He doesn't know what he's going to find, but suddenly he finally feels as though something fits. Maybe it's another well, or an old mine shaft. Maybe there was another house there in the woods once and nobody can remember it now...

He pushes away thoughts that tell him he's being irrational and rounds another stand of tall trees before stopping short. An old water tank stands large and looming in front of him, rusty holes near the top.

"Lil!" he shouts. He hammers on the side, but quickly notices the dull thud and realises the tank is full of water. His heart drops to his stomach as he hears Stillman catch up with him.

"I'll call Vera," the lieutenant breathes.

Scotty rounds the tank, looking for a way in, his mind a mess of images – all containing Lil floating somewhere in there. He trips on an untied shoelace and sprawls in the dirt, gasping and panicking as he realises maybe he'll find her too late. He staggers to his feet again and slaps his palm against the water tank. "Lil!" he cries. He leans his forehead against the cool corrugated iron. "You have to be here," he breathes. He stands straight and gazes around the small clearing, narrowing his eyes in the weak light and searching for the lock to his key.

xXx

Lilly sleeps, dizzy and quiet in the dark. She is too exhausted for her nightmares to wake her.

In the back of her mind, in a dream that weaves with long corridors and trees and breaking glass, she can hear him calling her name.

She stirs, curling tighter into a ball. It's cold, and the chills in her fingers and toes are starting to wake her. She opens her eyes to a darkness even more complete than what she faced in sleep.

She can't help but wonder how long it takes to die. She can't help but wish the time were nearer. She sits up, feeling dizzy, and slowly gropes her way across the room to the basin. The water is ice-cold, but it quenches her thirst and it helps her feel numb, which is all she really wants, now.

As she sinks to the floor, she hears her name again, and she moans and buries her face in her hands, not wanting to face another nightmare vision of blood and Romeo and pulsing light.

The hasty rattle of metal on metal causes her to look up in alarm.

xXx

It's twenty yards from the water tank, level with the ground but set in concrete. The padlock gleams like treasure in the shadowed forest.

"Get an ambulance," Scotty orders Stillman, gasping as he wrestles with the lock and key. He calls for Lilly again as it clicks open and he tosses it aside, throwing the bolt back and heaving the cover up, his muscles burning with adrenaline. "Lil!" He braces his hands over the manhole and peers down into the dark. "Rush!"

She appears slowly, her hands clutched to her chest and her eyes wide, gazing up at him silently. She looks small and ghostly in the black pool of the bunker. She's dirt-streaked and blood-stained but she's alive and staring back at him and nobody has ever been so relieved as he.

"Oh, God." He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. "Lil."

She's still staring up at him.

"You okay? Get back." He waves at her and she obediently takes half a step back. He glances over his shoulder at Stillman, who gives a shout as he realises what Scotty is about to do. Scotty doesn't care. He drops through the hole and lands heavily on the ground below, the fall jarring his bones. He scrambles to his feet and then he has her.

She feels like glass; cold and frail.

"Lil, say somethin'," he says desperately, wrapping his arms around her.

She gives a loud sob and slumps against him, finally allowing herself to cave to the idea that reality is in front of her and it's not a nightmare or a trick of her trapped mind. "You were dead."

He wraps the folds of his jacket around her and traps her against him. She feels cold and damp and he can feel the fire of his own relief inside him. He wants her to be close to it. He presses a hard kiss against her forehead. "You gotta have more faith in me," he says, and his voice is shaky. "You think a little fall down a well is the end of Scotty Valens?"

The darkness is almost complete – just a faint, blue strip of light spills down on them from above. Enough to note smiles and faces. She smiles at him, but her eyes are red-rimmed.

"You hurt?" he asks.

She shakes her head and twists her fingers into his shirt. "Are you?"

"No, I'm okay." He rests his cheek against the top of her head and feels her shuffle closer to him, burrowing deep into him.

She starts to cry, muffling her sobs against his shoulder. He can feel her shaking and shuddering with every breath.

"It's okay, Lil. We'll get you out of here and it'll all be okay." He glances up and sees Stillman looking down at them. "She's okay, boss."

Stillman nods, looking relieved. "We'll get you up out of there as soon as we can."

Lilly hears him, but can't move. She keeps her face pressed into Scotty's shoulder, feeling the warmth and the life of him, clinging to him tightly and knowing how close she came to dying away in the cold and the dark. She doesn't ever want to let go of something that feels so warm and alive.

"We got John Smith," Scotty murmurs after a moment, not sure if it'll be helpful or hurtful to mention him. "And we found Brenda – she's okay."

"She is?" Lilly hiccups and draws in a deep, shuddery breath.

"Uh-huh." He holds his arms tightly around her waist, keeping her locked against him. She smells like dirt and cold water.

"I tried to..." She bites her lip hard in an effort to hold more tears back.

"He wasn't ever gonna play fair with you," Scotty answers softly. "It's okay, Lil." He runs his hand over her back and she chokes and sobs again, giving in to everything that has heaped up on top of her.

There will be time to talk later. In places full of light and comfort, where it's easier to keep away the nightmares. And she _will_ talk. She can't keep this bottled in; she can't fight her old demons alone and nor can she fight her new ones. She will spread their weight to anyone who will listen, shredding their shadows and forcing them away from her so that the next time she is in the dark, she will be strong and they will be weak.

"Too much," she breathes tiredly, her sobs slowing. She keeps her head tucked beneath Scotty's chin. "I want to go home."

He combs her hair back untidily and looks down at her. "I think they're gonna make you go to the hospital first." He frowns down at her. "Where'd all this blood come from?" He touches the collar of her shirt and feels her rapid, shallow pulse beneath his fingertips.

"My nose," she says, looking up at him. "Is it crooked?"

He grins and gives a small laugh, resting his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. His hands trace her face and he lets his thumbs meet against either side of her nose, trembling down the length of it.

"Nah," he whispers. "It's okay."

xXx

The first time she feels truly awake is in the hospital. She can't remember the events that got her there. She can't remember leaving the bunker or travelling through the dark. She can't remember when Scotty let go of her hand, and she panics a little when she realises he's not beside her anymore.

She sits up in the bed, clean and scrubbed but still frail and dizzy. She feels as though she has been locked away for years.

The nurse looks at her in alarm when she moves so quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Where's Scotty?" Lilly demands, her voice surprisingly loud. "He wasn't supposed to leave me."

The nurse gives her a small smile and hangs a clipboard on the end of the bed. "He's outside. He'll be glad to know he can come in."

Scotty enters almost immediately after the nurse leaves, and Lilly lets out a sigh of relief. He looks as exhausted as she feels, and he's covered in dirt.

"She told me to go home and clean up," he explains, looking down at himself. "I didn't want to go before I got a chance to tell you I'd be more than a few feet away..." He trails off and sighs, sinking onto the edge of her bed. "You okay?"

She gives him a small smile. "I'm tired."

"Me too," he breathes, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his chin drop to his chest.

She picks at a loose thread on the blanket covering her. "Does John Smith know I'm out?"

"I'm not sure," Scotty admits after a moment. "Maybe."

She rests her forehead against her knees. "I really thought you were dead," she says after a moment, her voice muffled. "I spent so much time down there just thinking of you and what I'd done..." She squeezes her eyes closed against the memories.

After a moment his hand rests gently on top of her head. "I was always gonna find you, Lil."

She looks up at him and he gives her a small, crooked smile.

Her guilt refuses to fade. "You wanted to wait for backup," she croaks. "I just –"

"Let's not do this," he says, looking tired. "I'm sure we'll have to go over it with asshole inspectors later on anyway."

She cracks a smile at this and he grins back at her.

"Okay?"

She nods.

He stretches, wincing as the bruising on his back reminds him of just how tender he still is. His headache – a combination of injury, stress and exhaustion – hits him again, and he wonders if it ever really went away or if he just forgot about it after finding Lil.

"I gotta go and get cleaned up," he says, looking down at his dirt-stained hands. "And I'd better stop by and feed your cats again."

She smiles. "You fed my cats?"

"I was askin' for clues," he breathes, standing up and stretching again, grimacing as his back pulls tight. He looks down at her and she tries to keep her expression neutral, but she fails. His brow creases. "You okay to go to sleep? Did they give you something?"

"I didn't want anything," she admits, twisting her fingers together and remembering her earlier promise to herself about accepting any help to come her way. She pushes it to the back of her mind and fixes her eyes on her knees. "Every time I close my eyes, something bad happens."

He looks down at himself again, noting the dirt and sweat-stained clothes, before he sinks into the chair beside her bed. "Sleep," he says tiredly. "Your cats will keep, right?"

She nods and shuffles down, rolling onto her side to face him. "I tried to play his game," she says softly, wanting him to know she _wanted_ to fight.

"I know, Lil." He reaches lazily for her hand and wraps his fingers tightly around hers. "Go to sleep."

"He told me you were dead," she says tearfully, needing to explain the spark behind the inferno of nightmares she'd faced. "It was my fault."

"I ain't gonna die down some hole," Scotty says, leaning forward and bumping his forehead gently against hers. "And neither are you." He squeezes her hand and for the briefest of moments his lips press quietly against the corner of her mouth before he's leaning back again, watching her tiredly. "Go to sleep," he says. "Or I'll force that scary nurse to sedate you." He grins again and she gives him a small smile, forcing her eyes to close.

She listens to the noise of the hospital, forcing away the rattle of gurneys and voices and focusing on Scotty's quiet breathing.

Warm. Alive.

She sighs gently and feels herself fall freely into sleep.

xXx


	12. Together

"Lil."

Her eyes open almost immediately, and she feels the pain of exhaustion striking her between the temples. She shifts her head against the crisp pillow to see Scotty leaning over her. She can feel the weight of his hand on her waist.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice a whisper.

She blinks at him, confused. The room is draped in muted light – the curtains are closed against the early morning sun. "What time is it?"

"Early," he whispers apologetically. "You were dreamin'. Not good dreams... I..." He shrugs and trails off, looking a little embarrassed and sorry that he woke her.

"Oh." She rolls onto her back and his hand slides over the blankets as she moves, stopping to rest over her stomach. She clings to him tightly and looks around the room, feeling disorientated and achy.

"You okay?"

She looks at him. He looks tired, but he no longer appears to have the same papery, rough exhaustion clinging to him that he did yesterday. He gives her a small smile and squeezes her fingers.

"What was I dreaming about?" she asks quietly, wondering how on Earth he knew before she did that things in her sleep were haunting her.

He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know. You were tossin' about, makin' noise. Everyone has bad dreams..."

She props herself up against her pillows, wide awake now. The corridor behind her door is growing louder with footsteps as the early morning shift changes over. "What do you dream about?"

He looks down at his hand, resting on her stomach and hidden by her white-knuckled fingers, gripping him tightly. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat slightly before he reaches over with his left hand and gently pulls the loose collar of her hospital gown aside to reveal her bare, pale shoulder. The scar is a puckered dimple above her breast and he runs his finger over it slowly.

"This," he says after a moment. "I dream about this. Sometimes I don't get there in time. Sometimes I miss, and my bullet hits you instead of Romeo. Sometimes I can't shoot through that mirror and I know you're watchin' me on the other side and you're waitin' for me to help..." He trails off and frowns, his voice dying away in his throat.

She watches him with wide blue eyes. She'd never even considered the possibility of him being as traumatised by that night as she is. She can feel his fingers warm on her bare skin and she sees him swallow, hard, before he pulls the thin gown back over her skin and sits back, obviously uncomfortable about admitting his fears.

"I have bad dreams about that night," she says suddenly, remembering her earlier promise to share the load of her burdens. "Not about the shooting – about everything after. The glass on the floor and the lights..." She draws in a shaky breath and then shakes her head.

Scotty gives her a crooked smile. "I've got a dreadful feeling the nightmares are gonna get worse over the next few days..."

She shivers and she can feel tears burning on her lashes. She squeezes them back, but he leans over her and presses his lips gently against her forehead. She clutches him and gives a loud sob, and suddenly everything is spilling out.

"I couldn't do it," she wails. "I just let him tear me apart and put me down there with all my worst fears. I never fought him; I never stood up to him..." She breathes hot sobs against his shoulder and he rests his hip up against the bed, awkwardly twisting his body so he's lying alongside her, one hand still trapped in the knitted clamp of her fingers.

He takes his time arranging himself and she sobs and moans, embarrassed and desperate and trying to get herself under control. He kisses the top of her head and sighs quietly as he finally settles, one arm loose around her thin shoulders, the thumb of his other hand tracing soft circles on the back of her wrist.

"You fought him to the car," he says after a moment, his voice soft against her hiccupping breath. "You left a trail of drag marks and one of your shoes behind. And blood."

She gives a noncommittal mumble, her lashes clogged and wet as she blinks and tries to calm herself down.

"You argued with him about gettin' me out of that well, right?" Scotty asks.

She can feel the movement of his smile against her temple and after a moment she nods slowly.

"You won that one, right? You got him to call Stillman and get me out."

She nods again and he runs his hand up and down her arm soothingly.

"We all got nightmares, Lil. Few of us could be locked away with 'em and not fall apart."

She nods tiredly and he hugs her a bit closer, pressing his mouth gently against her temple.

"Go back to sleep," he says. "I'll stay on Nightmare Watch."

She smiles and tilts her head up to look at him, squirming against him carefully, aware that they're both bruised and sore. She rests her head down on the pillow, her cheek against his bicep. She can feel the muscles in his arm shifting as he rubs his thumb across the pale skin just below the sleeve of her hospital gown.

"Scotty..." His name has left her mouth before she can think about why she's spoken it. She blinks up at him and he looks back at her patiently. "I'm sorry," she whispers after a moment. "All I could think about down in the bunker was how it was my fault, you being at the bottom of that well..." Her voice cracks. "I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head and shrugs himself down to fit his head on the pillow beside hers. "It wasn't your fault," he whispers. "It was him. He did it, not you. Okay?" He runs his fingers over her temple and pushes the loose strands of her hair back.

She closes her eyes and sighs quietly, listening to the hospital shift and clatter around her. After a while it all fades away and all she can hear is Scotty's gentle breath. It lulls her back to sleep, and this time she fades deep into a dreamless stretch of it, dark and silent and comfortable.

xXx

Lilly opens her eyes to find Stillman looking down at her. After a moment he lifts his hand to stroke his thumb soothingly along her brow.

"How are you feeling, Lil?" He gives her a smile that is so normal and tender she wants to cry.

"Dizzy," she admits. "Tired." She sits up and looks around. "Where's Scotty?"

Stillman nods towards the bathroom. "Taking a shower."

She takes Stillman's hand because suddenly it feels as though she'll sink if she's not hanging onto someone. "Do I have to give a statement?"

"Later," he assures her. "Don't worry yourself over it. When you're ready."

"I want it over and done with." She rubs her brow and realises she wants to forget everything. Suddenly she imagines herself marching back into the office and burying herself in paperwork, forcing bad memories to be buried under the dead weight of work.

Stillman realises what she's thinking and forces the vague fantasy out of her mind before she's managed to fully recognise its presence there. "You'll be taking some time off," he says. It's an order, but it's said gently. "You'll be seeing someone. Talking about this. And when you're head's clear again, you can come back."

She hesitates for a moment before she nods obediently.

"Him too," Stillman says, nodding his head towards the bathroom door. Lilly can hear the sound of running water.

"Why?" she asks. "Why him as well?"

"He needs to clear his mind of all this. I think we've all seen what happens when work buries us and hurts us and we don't deal with it." He squeezes her hand and she recognises guilt and sorrow on his face.

She lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry, boss," she whispers. "I wasn't coping with things. It's my fault Scotty and I got into that situation with John Smith and it's my fault –"

"It's not your fault," he countered gently. "But we're going to make sure you're 100 per cent again before you work on anything new, okay?"

She nods obediently and he puts his hand on top of her head, stroking her hair gently until she leans forward against his shoulder, allowing another wall down and reminding herself that trying to cope alone never worked for her anyway.

xXx

Any sleep or rest that Lilly gained in hospital has disappeared by the evening. She gazes down at the half-empty cup of coffee in front of her, numbing herself to everything because it seems like the best way to cope until she's allowed out of the interrogation room.

They kept the door open at her request, but she still feels trapped. She still feels as though the bunker has built itself up around her. The lights above her are reflected in the black pool of coffee in the mug in front of her.

"We'll call if we have any further questions."

She nods, and watches the inspectors leave, feeling too drained to get up and follow them into the familiar maze of corridors and rooms of the Philadelphia Police Department.

Scotty appears in the doorway almost immediately, the light from the room behind him spilling over his shoulders and blurring his silhouette. "You okay?"

She rubs her eyes. "I want to go home."

"Come on then."

She moves sluggishly. The day has been eaten up and she can barely remember any of it. Being on the other side of questioning and procedure has left her feeling drained and weak. She walks quietly beside Scotty, her eyes on the floor as she wills herself to take things step by step, slowly and surely making her way home.

Scotty takes her hand in the elevator and she leans her head against his arm, not bothering to ask if he's coming with her, because she knows he is. There has been no getting rid of him all day, and she's grateful because now and then she's found herself reaching for him and he's always been there to take hold of her and remind her that she's out of the ground and into the air again.

"Did you see him?" Lilly asks quietly, watching the lights flash behind the numbers above the elevator doors. "John Smith?"

"No." Scotty squeezes her hand. "He'll get the needle, Lil. With or without you. You don't need to do anythin' more."

She closes her eyes and realises how sick she feels. The elevator dips to a stop on the ground floor and Scotty leads her out onto the street.

She puts her hand in her pocket and closes her fingers around the bottle of pills that left the hospital with her. She wonders if they'll be enough to keep the nightmares away. She can feel them on the edges of her mind, waiting for her to let her guard down again so they can steal in and coat her mind with blood and fear.

She shivers, and Scotty squeezes her hand again, leading her to his car and holding the passenger-side door open for her.

As he drives, she notices how slow his movements are, as though he is moving underwater. He is just as exhausted as she is – perhaps more so.

Her chin droops towards her chest and she is too tired to stop it. She closes her eyes and listens to the car riding over the night streets.

xXx

Scotty hoists Lilly gently into his arms, surprised and dismayed at how light and small she is in his arms. She mumbles something soft and incoherent as he pauses on the front steps, skittering the key around the new lock in her front door.

He places her gently on the couch because he can't face putting her to bed when he knows John Smith sat in that room, breathing in the scent of lavender. He looks around and wonders if Lil will be able to stand that knowledge and still be able to live here.

He shakes her awake gently. "You gotta eat somethin'," he whispers. "You're fadin' away." He gives her a small grin and she smiles back at him tiredly.

"I got no food," she murmurs, sitting up sleepily. She looks around and smiles when she sees her cats curled up, watching both her and Scotty from the armchair in the corner.

"I'll order a pizza."

She nods agreement and runs her hands through her hair. "I'm going to take a shower," she says after a moment. "I feel..." She draws in a quivery breath and shakes her head. She feels like the darkness of the bunker is still clinging to her skin, swamping her.

Scotty watches her as she staggers upright and pauses.

"You won't go, right?" she asks after a moment, looking embarrassed about even asking.

"Nope." He gives her a small smile.

She nods and tugs nervously at the sleeves of her shirt. "I don't think..." She swallows hard and clears her throat, looking down at the floor. "I can't have the door shut," she says.

"I won't peep," he promises. He gives her another grin and she smiles back at him and heads for the bathroom, intent on standing beneath scalding water, scrubbing at her skin to remove the stagnant weight of nightmares that have wound their way around her.

She stops again in the doorway. "No anchovies."

He chuckles and takes his phone out of his pocket. "No anchovies."

He listens intently until the water starts running before he orders a pizza. He watches the muted television, only half-noticing when Olivia carefully jumps up onto the couch and sniffs at him cautiously before she curls up and starts preening herself.

When Lil comes back her skin is pink and clean, though her eyes are red and Scotty suspects she's been crying. He watches as she tugs Olivia into her lap, stroking her fur and fixing her weary eyes on the television.

"I'm not very hungry," she says after a moment.

"Eat one slice to keep me happy," he murmurs, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. She nods tiredly and he keeps one arm against the back of the sofa, his fingers nestled in the damp tresses of her hair, his other hand close to the gun in the holster on his belt.

He knows at some point, when his leave becomes official, he'll have to hand it in, but Stillman blessedly delayed the need for any paperwork which indicated Lilly and Scotty's time off. For now, his gun is still his, and if anyone crosses the threshold of Lil's house without being invited, it'll be shoot first and ask questions later.

Lilly watches him out of the corner of her eye, noting how tense he is and how he keeps the palm of his hand resting against the butt of his gun, as though he'll need to use it at any moment.

"I should've asked for my gun," she whispers after a moment. "Though they probably wouldn't let me have it back, anyway."

"They'll take mine in a few days as well," Scotty murmurs. "Got a baseball bat?"

"Somewhere, maybe."

"Keep it next to your bed."

She nods, and fixes her eyes back on the television, not feeling any ridiculousness about the fear inside her or the way Scotty has gruffly told her to arm herself with whatever she can.

When the knock at the door comes, they both jump, and Lilly clutches Olivia to her chest as Scotty checks at the window and breathes a sigh when he realises it's just the arrival of their pizza.

They sit on the couch, watching sitcoms without really seeing them, eating their pizza slowly. Lil manages two slices.

"How'd you get out of the well?" she asks. She balls up her napkin and throws it towards the coffee table.

"Crawled out." Scotty throws his napkin at hers and shows her his hands. His nails are still chipped and ragged, though the rough scrapes and slices on the ends of his fingers have scabbed over.

"I thought for sure you'd broken your neck." She runs her eyes over him.

"Don't know how I didn't." He rubs the back of his head. "Managed to bruise my back up pretty bad."

Olivia drops gracefully to the floor and pads back to her chair in the corner. Lilly takes the opportunity to sit up and look at Scotty expectantly.

"What?" he asks warily.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not so bad, now. It's mostly gone. Just yellowing, I think."

She fidgets for a moment and then speaks quietly. "I kept thinking of you all broken up at the bottom of the well," she admits tearfully. "In the end I prayed you were dead because the alternative was..." She trails off and sobs and he looks at her in alarm.

He wonders how long it will be before she feels strong again. He wonders if she has to get worse before she gets better, and he wonders how on Earth it _could_ get worse, because this broken little thing in front of him seems so far removed from Lilly Rush he can barely stand it.

 _The detective I left locked away is a different detective to the one you remember. She has nothing left to keep her together._

John Smith's words circle around in his head and he frowns and shakes his head. He puts his arm around Lilly's shoulders and hugs her close. "We'll be okay, Lil. It'll be all right."

She nods, relieved that he seems so sure of everything, and presses her face into his shirt. "I was all alone," she hiccups. "I had no one missing me." She sobs and sobs as she realises this is the large, black thought right in the middle of everything. It taints everything else; it grips hold of her and digs its heels in and tells her she's so alone that her death could be so easily glossed over and forgotten by everyone.

Scotty drags her down into the sofa, kicking his shoes off and wrapping his arms tightly around her sobbing form. Her tears are cold and wet. "I missed you," he says truthfully. "Did nothin' _but_ miss you." He squeezes her tightly and speaks firmly and clearly, desperate for her to read the exhaustion and heartache that he has carried around since he fell down the well.

"Don't forget, partner," he whispers, "You'll always have me."

xXx


	13. Solutions

The psychiatrist's office is decorated with creamy leather and smooth blue walls. Scotty fidgets and looks out the window. It occurs to him again that Lilly appears to be dealing with this situation better than he is, and he gives a wry smile at the thought.

"Scotty?"

He glances back to the woman sitting in the chair opposite him and barely resists the temptation to roll his eyes. He was never very good at explaining his feelings to people – though he has never thought of himself as secretive when it comes to emotion, either. Often it's so hard for him to keep things under the surface he can't _help_ but share things – whether he wants to or not.

"I don't know," he says eventually, glowering as he remembers the question Dr. Laura asked him in the first place.

She taps a pen thoughtfully against her chin, watching him. "You know this situation with Lilly can't go on forever, don't you?"

He slides down in his seat a little, picking at some loose stitching on the arm of the leather chair. He stops himself before he does too much damage and looks out the window again. "I never said it'd go on forever," he says eventually. He sounds angry and defensive and he tries to scale it back. "Just until she's ready to be alone again."

"Are you sure it's not _you_ who doesn't want to be alone?"

He does roll his eyes this time, and checks his watch as a reaction to his annoyance. "It's five o'clock," he says. "See you Tuesday."

Dr. Laura opens her mouth to argue with him but he's up and out of his chair already, striding to the door.

Lilly is waiting for him in the foyer, a magazine balanced on her knees. By the time she looks up at him he's arranged his facial expression into an easy grin.

"Ready to go?"

She nods, looking tired and relieved, and hooks her arm through his as they leave the building together. The sun is low in the sky, sliding down between the taller buildings in the inner city. Traffic is already loud and slow around them.

"We'll never get a cab here," Scotty says, running his eyes over the late afternoon crowds around them. "Mind walkin' for a bit?"

She shakes her head and they walk together along the street, moving between late yellow sun and blue shadow.

"How'd it go?" Lilly asks. "Did she ask you about our sleeping arrangements?"

Scotty looks at her in surprise. "Not in those words."

She laughs at his expression, but she looks a little embarrassed. She shrugs, trying to look like her session with Dr. Laura hasn't left her bothered or confused. "I told her to mind her own business."

"No you didn't." He grins at her and she smiles back at him and shakes her head.

"I told her it wasn't like that. Not like – what she's thinking." She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, a frown on her face.

Scotty wants to take her hand, but she's looped arms with him and her hand is in her pocket. The evening is cool and Lilly's burrowed into her jacket.

"She just told me it's not a permanent solution," Scotty said truthfully.

Lilly nods, and he knows Dr. Laura told her the same thing. He is more angry and upset about it than he feels he has the right to be. He knows it's mostly because Dr. Laura is right – they can't keep this up; this unspoken arrangement they've both fallen into.

The first night, they both fell asleep on the couch, Lilly's tears drying on the shoulder of his shirt and the cats purring softly at their ankles. The television was on all night, comforting, quiet noise in the midnight hours.

The second night they split – he stayed on the couch and she went to bed alone. Barely half an hour had passed before she'd come back and crawled under the blankets with him, fixing her eyes on the television and breathing a soft sigh of relief. She had been sweating and her heart was rapid. He had felt it beating through her back.

The third night they stumbled into her bedroom together, too exhausted and on edge to bother with the problems that could possibly arise from their curling beneath the blankets together. They had started on opposite sides of the bed, but when he woke up several hours later, they had both moved towards one another, meeting in the middle in a tangle of warmth and curves and sweet, soft breathing. He had watched her for a while, noting the way she finally seemed relaxed, before he'd closed his eyes and fallen asleep to the steady rhythm of her breath.

Each night since then had been the same, and in an effort to shed their demons and have everything return to normal, they had developed a policy of utmost honesty with the psychiatrist they had both been sent to. That meant admitting to the shared bed.

Lilly had been prescribed anti-anxiety medication, but as far as Scotty knew, she hadn't touched the pills at all. So long as she went to three hourly sessions a week, he and Stillman felt better about things.

Scotty took to his own sessions with little tolerance, not seeing why he needed to spend three hours a week talking to a woman who called herself 'Dr. Laura' and told him he had trouble with his emotions. He didn't think he did – as far as he was concerned, it was an entirely normal reaction to be completely shaken by the fact someone had tried to bury his partner alive.

Lilly is usually quiet after her sessions with Laura, but she looks particularly worried as they wander between the shadows of buildings.

"You okay?" he asks her.

The old Lilly would have said yes. The old Lilly probably would have shot him a look of anger and frustration.

The new Lilly is not so quick to dismiss her demons. "I don't know," she admits.

Scotty tugs at her arm and takes her hand.

xXx

"When are you going back to work?" Lilly keeps her eyes focused on her fork as she pushes a piece of penne pasta around her plate.

Scotty watches her for a moment. "I hadn't thought."

She shoots him a look that is surprisingly dark. "Don't lie to me."

"I ain't lyin', Lil," he promises softly, leaning forward across the table. "I really haven't thought about goin' back. I don't know, okay?"

She puts her fork down and folds her hands in her lap, still avoiding his eyes. "Am I stopping you?" she asks after a moment. She looks up at him, suddenly defiant, and he sees her, the Old Lilly, flashing in those bright blue eyes. She is fierce and angry. "Because you don't _have_ to stay here with me. If you want to go back to work –"

"Stop it, Lil," he says.

She purses her lips into a thin line and he reaches across and plucks a piece of her pasta into his fingers, putting it into his mouth and watching her. She is small and stiff. Angry.

"What the hell did Dr. Laura say to you?" Scotty asks after a few long, silent seconds go by.

"Nothing," Lilly mutters.

"Just because she hammers a bunch of degrees to her wall don't make her an expert on everythin'," Scotty says, hearing his own anger and judgement coming through. "Just because you gotta talk to her to keep Stillman happy don't mean what she says is right."

He watches Lilly's shoulders drop slightly as she relaxes.

"I know," she mumbles. She picks up her fork again and twirls it in her fingers. "But if I am stopping you –"

"Like I _want_ to go back to work," Scotty interrupts roughly, giving her a slight grin. "Come on, Lil. You know how addicted I am to The Bold and the Beautiful, now. If I go back to work I'm gonna miss new storylines."

She laughs and shoves her plate away, smiling at him across the table.

He grins back and the tense moment passes.

xXx

She has nightmares that night for the first time all week.

Scotty tries to soothe her without waking her up, but soon she is sobbing in her sleep, struggling for breath, her legs twisting in the sheets.

"Don't," she says. "Don't. It's dark down here."

His heart breaks and he reaches over and turns her lamp on before he wakes her, stroking her damp hair away from her forehead.

She covers her face with her hands and cries.

He tells her they can leave the light on. He tells her it'll be okay.

xXx

"I want to see John Smith."

Dr. Laura looks surprised. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lilly."

"Why not?" Lilly asks, defensive and still. "I can't stop dreaming about him. And I have questions for him. He's going to get the needle – if I don't ask him now I might never know why he did the things he did."

Dr. Laura looks at her. "Are you taking your anti-anxiety medication, Lilly?"

"It doesn't work." Lilly holds eye contact and feels a small flare of pride when Dr. Laura looks away first.

"Is Detective Valens still spending the night?"

Lilly doesn't fail to notice Dr. Laura's use of Scotty's title and surname. "Yes," she answers sharply. "I don't like being alone."

"Maybe it's a good idea for you to spend some time with someone else," Dr. Laura says gently. "A family member or a friend."

Lilly feels her throat tighten and tears burn behind her eyes. "There _is_ no one else."

Dr. Laura frowns.

"You can't _stop_ me from seeing John Smith," Lilly says. "I wanted you to tell me it'd help if I saw him."

"Why would I do that?" Dr. Laura asks. "I don't think it would help, Lilly. I think you need to look forward, not back."

Lilly rubs her forehead, a headache settling across her temples. "I can't look forward until I know _why_ ," she says.

"Do you really think John Smith will tell you why he did what he did?" Dr. Laura asks. "Do you think he'll give you the answers you want, or do you think he'll attempt to break apart the progress you've made?"

Lilly clears her throat softly and doesn't answer. She focuses her eyes on a mark on the arm of a chair and wonders if Scotty has picked at it with his fingernail.

"Maybe you should talk to your lieutenant about this," Dr. Laura says finally.

Lilly bites her lip and rubs her finger over the loose stitching on the chair. "Maybe," she says.

xXx

She knows Scotty will say no. She knows he'll be angry and protective if she even suggests it. So she calls Stillman while Scotty is in with Dr. Laura, sitting in the same chair she just exited.

"You okay, Lil?"

She feels a slight prickle when Stillman uses such a tone of concern and worry in his greeting – which is less of a greeting and more an anxious query.

"I'm fine," she answers. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

She smiles and glances nervously to the door of Dr. Laura's office, trying to remember if she had ever been able to hear the waiting room from inside. "I know John Smith has pleaded guilty to everything," she says. "But there's no remorse. He'll still get the needle, won't he?"

Stillman is quiet for a moment. "Yes," he says. "He will."

"I want to talk to him." She hears Stillman's chair creak as he leans back and suddenly she aches for the office and the tense bustle of her job. She wants activity and aggression.

"You've got plenty of time for that, Lil," Stillman says eventually. "You know how these things go. Why don't you wait a while?"

She shifts in her chair. He hasn't said no, and that pleases her. "I feel like I need answers," she says. "I want to ask him some things."

"I know you do," Stillman says gently. "Did you talk to Dr. Laura about this?"

Lilly scowls. "Yes."

Stillman chuckles. "I take it from your tone it wasn't a very popular idea."

"Not really," she admits. She pauses for a moment and feels panic strike her chest. "She'd better not tell Scotty what I said in there."

"She's not allowed to do that."

Lilly rubs her forehead again and sinks down in her seat. "I can't stop dreaming," she says in a small voice. "I don't know how to stop it. I'm doing everything I'm told to do..." She trails off as she realises she hasn't been taking the pills Dr. Laura prescribed to her. She took one and it made her sick. She passes it off as an effort rather than a flat-out refusal of help, and feels better about things.

"It'll stop, Lil. It might take a while, but you'll be okay."

She brushes a tear away on her thumb. "I'm sick of sitting around thinking about it all the time."

"Have you talked with Dr. Laura about coming back to work?"

She scowls again. "No. I wanted to talk to _you_ about coming back to work."

He laughs. "I'd love to have you back, Lil. When you're both ready."

Her heart sinks and she closes her eyes as she admits the next truth to him. "Scotty's ready," she mumbles. "He's only here because I'm still having nightmares."

"Scotty won't be ready until you're ready," Stillman says. "I'll call Dr. Laura tomorrow and broach the subject of you both coming back to work. It'll be desk duty –"

"I don't care!" Lilly blurts. "I can't take any more of The Bold and the Beautiful."

He laughs again. "One condition, Lilly..."

She feels her hope fade. She knows what's coming. "What?" she asks.

"No John Smith. Not yet. You have time, and I want you to focus on other things. Forget about him for a while, okay? If you want to talk to him in a few months..."

She swallows and nods, giving in. "Okay," she breathes. "Fine."

She can hear Stillman smile as he says goodbye. "That's my girl."

xXx

They go by Scotty's apartment to pick up his mail. He thumbs through bills and catalogues with a frown on his face as Lilly flicks through the channels on his television.

"Got any dirty channels?" she asks, her feet up on his coffee table.

"Not that I know of," he answers, tossing the junk mail by her feet. "Let me know if you find any." He grins and disappears into the kitchen. "Hungry?"

"You have no food," she calls back to him.

He waves Chinese menus at her and she smiles.

They eat in front of the television. She eats his snow peas and he steals pieces of her chicken, grinning at her when she protests. He kicks his shoes off and props his ankles up on the coffee table, his feet next to hers.

"How was Dr. Laura today?" he asks, because they haven't talked about it yet and he's curious.

"The usual," Lilly answers.

He nods and takes another piece of her chicken, laughing when she punches his arm.

xXx

Scotty is in the shower when the electricity cuts out. He shuts the water off immediately, stumbling about in the dark until he has a towel around his waist. He finds Lilly balled up against the wall in the living room, gasping and panicking loudly. The flashlight only seems to make it worse.

He tugs at her arm gently, pulling her to the window. The entire block is out, but there's a glow in the sky further over, where the other buildings are still lit up and bright.

"It's okay," he tells her.

She presses her forehead against the glass and her sobbing spreads fog over the window. She shies away when he tries to touch her, so he leaves the flashlight with her and disappears into his bedroom, pulling clothing over his wet skin.

When he comes back her breath is still rapid, but she's fixed her eyes on the skyline further over, and he can visibly see her relaxing.

"You okay?" he asks.

She wipes her eyes and keeps her gaze locked on the faint glow of light, miles away from them. "It's dark," she says feebly.

"They'll get it sorted soon." He pulls two chairs to the window and sits, and after a moment she sinks down opposite him, the flashlight gripped in her hands.

"I asked him not to put me in the dark," she whispers. She glances at him, embarrassed and afraid. "He laughed at me."

Scotty leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "I ain't that keen on the dark, either," he says.

She gives him a wobbly smile and looks down at her hands. "I don't understand what happened," she says softly. "I don't understand why I'm still so afraid. I don't know how he made me this way..." Tears spill down her cheeks. "I don't _want_ to be like this."

"Fear's a funny thing, Lil," Scotty says softly. His fingers brush her knee. "Nobody likes it. Everybody's got it. It's normal to be afraid."

"Not like this," she says weakly.

"It ain't gonna last forever," he promises. "Every day is gonna be a little bit better than the last one."

"I hate this," she says again, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. The flashlight beam trembles. "I hate him."

"Me too," Scotty admits. "But don't give him too much credit, Lil. You've been through a lot of shit the past couple of years – too much. Nobody could go through what you've gone through and feel okay."

She glances up at him again furtively.

"George," he reminds her. "Even I have nightmares about that night."

She glances at him again but doesn't say anything. He knows she wants to.

"I got nightmares of you never walkin' out of there," he admits, quelling her curiosity before he continues. "And then you finally start feelin' good again and your Mom passes..."

She bites her lip and nods.

"And then you're shot..." He takes her hand and folds it between his own, his palms warm and wide on her skin. "Hell, Lil, I dunno how you lasted as long as you did."

She gazes at him with eyes that are dark in the dim light. She looks worried. "Are you scared of how things will be between us when things are normal again?" she asks softly.

He tilts his head and frowns. "What do you mean?"

She clears her throat and looks down at his hands. His thumb runs lightly over her wrist.

"Working together after you've seen me like this," she says. "Afraid like this. Afraid of the dark and being alone..."

"I don't care," he says, shrugging. "Just get me nice and drunk and I promise to forget all about it as soon as you're better."

She smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. "You're an idiot," she whispers.

He kisses the top of her head. "You still love me."

She grins tiredly. "Yeah."

xXx


	14. New

"Got it figured out yet?" Scotty asks, pointing the remote at the television.

Lilly barely glances up from the police report she's reading. "The brother did it."

Scotty thumbs the remote and puts an end to the crime drama he has been half-heartedly watching. "That's what I figured."

Lilly smirks. "Whatever."

Scotty sighs and tosses the remote aside, his feet up on Lilly's coffee table. "How about real crimes? Solved our case yet?"

Lilly shakes her head and looks up at him with half a grin. "Have you? I'm the one doing all the work over here."

"I clocked off at five, and I'm stayin' that way until Monday morning," Scotty says with a yawn.

Lilly looks back at the police report. It's from December 1969, and she's been finding it a relief to be back at work, escaping into crimes of the past and slowly bringing truths to light again. Work keeps her busy.

Still, she had promised Stillman she wouldn't overdo things, and if she's honest with herself, she's still a little afraid of burying herself in work again. She knows that exhaustion and stress is something she can't afford to fall into again.

She sets the folder aside and buries into the corner of the couch, the soles of her feet pressing up against Scotty's hip. "Put the TV back on," she says.

xXx

 _Lilly walks slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. She is reminded of a story from her childhood, where the heroine was referred to as bird-like and small. That is how Lilly feels now – like her bones are hollow and brittle, like a breath of wind could pick her up and destroy her with one fatal twist._

But if I were a bird _, Lilly reminds herself,_ I would master the wind and fly with it, rather than let it destroy me.

 _She pushes the analogy from her mind after that. It reminds her too much of the differences between herself now and herself_ then _, months ago. Before John Smith._

 _And try as she might, she can't quite get back to the Lilly of then._

 _She quickens her pace and lifts her chin, time and doubt weighing upon her shoulders. She reaches the end of the corridor and spins slowly, facing him through the bars._

 _He looks pleased. He stands and curls his fingers around the iron between them. "I was hoping you'd come," he says softly. "I asked for you."_

 _Lilly swallows and wets her throat, determined to have a steady voice. "I know you did," she says, and she keeps her eyes level on his, determined to face him, determined to be brave and calm._

" _So," John Smith says softly, "are you sleeping, detective? Or do the shadows keep you awake?"_

 _Lilly stares back at him, and for a moment, she considers running._

" _Tell me," John Smith says hungrily, peering at her between the bars. "Tell me – do you sleep? Or do you lie awake and remember me?"_

 _Lilly stares at him and keeps close to the wall opposite, ensuring a distance of several feet between them. "Why'd you do it?" she asks softly. "Tell me why."_

" _You know why, surely?" John Smith asks, looking amused. "I know we discussed that, detective."_

" _You gave me some bullshit reason about lives with no meanings," Lilly says. "Hope and fear."_

" _You're going to want a better reason," John Smith sighs, and he looks pleased. His eyes take on a dreamy look as he gazes at her. "There is no better reason," he says. "I enjoyed it. I took women who thought they were happy and loved and strong, and I turned them to ruin before they died, and I liked it. That's why."_

 _Lilly's teeth are clenched and she can feel bile rising up in her throat. She chants a silent mantra to herself, telling herself to not be afraid, to question him, to interrogate him, to get her answers._

" _You think seeing me here like this will put your demons to rest," John Smith says. "It won't. Haven't you learned that by now, detective? You have so many demons, and you haven't beaten any of them. You were afraid of so many things before you were afraid of me..."_

 _She can hear the mantra in her head changing – telling her to get away, before he unravels the fragile threads of healing and security she's managed to knit together._

 _She curses her own stubbornness._

" _I wanted to see you," she says, and her voice is soft and shaky. "I wanted to tell you I know your real name, and I know where you're from, and I know where you're going next." She gives him a grim smile at that._

" _Knowing all of that will not change the fact you don't know_ why _, detective," he says quietly._

 _He smiles back at her, and she feels the little flare in her chest deflate and die. She lifts her chin, but her eyes are bright with tears._

" _Go to Hell," she whispers._

" _It was lovely to meet you, detective," he answers. "Truly lovely to meet you."_

xXx

Lilly doesn't jerk awake from her nightmares anymore. She emerges slowly, struggling from the heavy weight of sleep, her breathing loud in her ears and sweat damp on her skin.

A lot of the time, Scotty sleeps through her discomfort.

She breathes out slowly, her eyes shifting from the moonlit window to the familiar shadows of the furniture in her bedroom. She rolls over and puts one hand out on Scotty's chest, feeling his warmth and the even rhythm of his breathing.

A few times, they've tried to separate, because Lilly has tried to stand adamant in her belief that it's not a good idea; that it's not normal for him to be there with her.

Neither of them can stick with it. He always ends up back at her door in the small hours of the morning, awake and worried, and she's always waiting for him.

She watches him sleep and she grows frustrated with herself for not being able to move over this hurdle alone. She feels embarrassed about needing him there, like it makes her weak and vulnerable and not herself.

And whenever she mentions this to him, he lists everything she _has_ overcome alone, and he reminds her that it's okay to trip occasionally, and that John Smith is a hurdle all right to falter upon.

xXx

Lilly hasn't marked the date on any calendar, but it's still burned into her mind, and as it draws nearer, she wonders if an actual meeting with John Smith would be like her dreams.

"Do you think he'd tell me why?" she asks Scotty one morning, looking at him over her coffee.

"No," Scotty answers, and a little part of Lilly hates him for telling her the truth instead of encouraging her hopes for real answers.

"Maybe he would," she insists.

Scotty looks at her and she can see frustration and worry on his face. "Don't," he says softly. "He'll just undo it all, Lil. He'll put us back at square one."

And in the end she agrees not to go and visit John Smith, because Scotty says 'us' instead of 'you', and she doesn't want to drag him down with her.

xXx

Lilly hears, down the grapevine, that John Smith requested to see her before he was given the needle. She's not sure it's true – nobody sought her out to see if she'd be willing to fulfil his wish.

"They could have asked me," she mumbles one night, her voice half-lost in her pillow. "If he wanted to see me, they could have asked me if I'd do it."

"I'm glad they didn't," Scotty says, and his arm comes heavy over her waist. "He's dead, Lil."

"I know," she answers, but deep down there are still stirrings of fear and memories of the dark.

She wonders how long she'll be trapped with it.

xXx

Sometimes she does see him. Sometimes her dreams are so real, she wonders about the afterlife, and if it's possible for him to somehow _actually_ reach her. She's always hurt when her mother fails to turn up in her dreams.

"You and I are very alike, you know," John Smith tells her one night.

Lilly rolls over and shares a pillow with Scotty, his warm breath sweeping across her hair. She closes her eyes and wills her heartbeat to slow down again.

"You're dead," she tells John Smith, and the words in her mind are loud and firm.

"Yes," he agrees quietly. "But I'm still here, aren't I?"

xXx

Sometimes she breaks.

"I can't do it," she sobs one morning, and it looks like she's falling apart over burnt toast and cold coffee, instead of the deeper current of worry that's always pulling at her.

Scotty never knows what to do when this happens. He wraps his arms around her and he feels her shaking and trembling and he wonders what force on Earth is possibly strong enough to sweep the fear away from her.

He blames John Smith and he blames Dr. Laura, because John Smith started it and Dr. Laura was supposed to finish it.

"You've got a session today," he reminds Lilly, murmuring his voice into her shaking shoulder.

"Oh, great," Lilly sniffs, her voice sarcastic. "More rhetoric and head tilting."

Scotty laughs with relief, because she _is_ in there somewhere; Old Lil, and he wishes she found it easier to emerge.

"I'll tell 'em you're sick," he says, squeezing her slightly.

"Tell Dr. Laura, too."

"No deal," he answers, and his voice is firm. "Make sure you go." He kisses her ear and he leaves for work alone, feeling strangely off-balance and disoriented without Lilly beside him.

xXx

"We're too close, now," Scotty admits to Kat. She watches him quietly from across the table in the break room, her coffee going cold.

"There are all these blurred lines," Scotty says, and then he stops, because he's confused and because he doesn't know exactly how to explain his relationship with Lil. Everything changed when he pulled her up out of the bunker, and neither of them know how to go back.

"You know," Kat says quietly, "people do some fucked up things trying to find their way back to normal. What you and Lil have isn't fucked up or blurred or wrong. It's just a coping mechanism."

"Well how do you change it from a coping mechanism to actually coping?" Scotty asks. "None of it is getting better."

Kat grins at him and shakes her head. "It's getting better," she assures him. "It's just not happening fast enough for either of you."

Scotty's shoulders slump and he drums his fingers on the table. "Neither of us is particularly patient," he agrees, and Kat grins again.

xXx

Scotty tells himself to stop looking too far ahead; to just take each day as it comes, and relish the accomplishments that he and Lilly _have_ achieved.

He never admits to her that it feels like he's taking advantage. Like he's wormed his way into a situation he doesn't rightfully belong to exist in.

He tries to avoid curling around her at night, because Old Lilly always wanted her space, and normal doesn't mean a New Lilly, it means Old Lilly, back again, and he wants to encourage it by treating their relationship like it used to be.

Only it doesn't work, because of George, because of Romeo, because of John Smith. Both Lilly and Scotty have shifted and cowered and bruised so many times, it feels like Old Lilly is lost forever.

And sometimes Scotty doesn't care, he just wants New Lilly to feel okay, and he wants her close and warm and alive, so he slides across the mattress and he curls himself around her and hugs her until he falls asleep, calm and okay.

Calm and okay.

xXx

"I regret it, you know," Lilly whispers to him one morning, not even sure if Scotty's awake. "Not going to see him, at the end."

"I know you do."

"I wanted to say things to him. I wanted him to say things to me."

"You're obsessing over the _what ifs_ , Lil."

"Maybe."

Scotty closes his eyes again, still drowsy, Lilly wrapped in his arms and her breath bleeding through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Her lashes fleet against his throat.

"Do you think I'm weak?" she asks after a moment.

"No."

"I mean it; answer truthfully."

"I mean it, Lil. Now come on, it's Sunday. I want to sleep in."

"It's my bed. I make the rules."

He grins.

"Cops aren't meant to let things like this get to them."

"People are, Lil. People are meant to be afraid of fucked up creatures like John Smith. You're a person, not a cop. Take it as a compliment."

She huffs an impatient sigh against his neck. "You're missing the point."

"You're tryin' to make a point where there ain't one to make," he warns her. "Cops aren't meant to do that, either. Rely on the evidence, Lil, not the conjecture."

"Well, the evidence says I'm weak," she says, and she sounds oddly fierce, like he's somehow just proved her right without meaning to. "I can't sleep without you here; I'm scared of the dark; I have nightmares."

"Being scared of the dark and havin' nightmares ain't equal to strength or weakness," Scotty says sharply, suddenly wide awake. "Quit it."

There's a beat of silence before he grins again and squeezes her a little tighter. "And as for not sleepin' without me here, plenty of women have fallen victim to the same –"

She punches his shoulder and rolls away, and he laughs, delighted to see her grinning back at him.

Old Lilly's still there. Still there, somewhere.

xXx

Lilly and Scotty solve cases.

She finds herself reading the expressions on his face far better than she used to, and she knows it's because she's seen them in shadowy moonlight in bed and in yellow sunlight at the breakfast table. Thoughtful, worried, focused.

They put clues together and when they interview suspects, they finish each other's sentences and flow seamlessly together like one person.

One whole, new person.

Everyone notices, but nobody says anything. There are smiles though. Secret smiles.

Scotty's good at giving them, and Lilly's good at spotting them.

xXx

"You know what I've been doing wrong?" Lilly asks one night, curled up beside Scotty on the sofa.

"That's a loaded question," he mutters, thumbing through channels on the television.

Lilly ignores him. "I've been looking back too much."

"That's our job," Scotty answers. "We've spent all week readin' up on a case from 1993."

"Don't be a smart ass," she says, taking the remote from him. "I mean looking back on the person I was a few years ago. Before George. He's the one that started it. John Smith just took advantage of all the other stuff I'd already been through."

Scotty watches her, feeling wary of this conversation and where it's heading.

"I'm never, ever going to be the same person I was before all of that," Lilly says, and her voice is strangely awed and sad. "That person is gone."

"Not completely," Scotty says. "Now and then she pokes her head up to kick my ass about somethin'. Give me that." He takes the remote back and nudges her with a grin. "It ain't all black and white, Lil. You're not gonna be the same person you were, but you ain't gonna be a completely new one, either."

He puts his arm around her. "Experiences are _meant_ to change you," he says, and he turns up the volume, hoping to bring an end to her worries.

After a moment she leans against him, her eyes focused on another crime drama they'll both solve before the third commercial break. She doesn't seem unhappy or worried, and Scotty breathes a soft sigh of relief, wondering if this is all it's going to take to turn another corner.

xXx

"You know," Lilly says, pulling the blankets up to her shoulders, "I haven't had a nightmare for a while now."

"Yeah well, don't say that too loud," Scotty says, yawning. "They'll hear you and come back."

"Maybe I don't need you here anymore," Lilly says softly.

Scotty looks at her, wide awake. "You want me to go?"

She slides across the mattress and puts her head on his shoulder, and he can feel her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse rapid against him. Nervous.

"No," she whispers.

He puts his arm around her, and he's relieved, and slightly confused. "Good," he says after a moment, and they both relax, falling into something new and oddly comfortable.

Because they both know that everything is easier together, even if things aren't so difficult now. And they both know that everything is _better_ together.

Like it's always been. Work. Life.

"Partners," Lilly breathes tiredly, and they both fall asleep, the word soft and warm in the air between them.

xXx

"People think we're sleeping together," Lilly tells Scotty one morning. She watches the rain run down the window pane.

Scotty stretches, still half-buried in pillows and the sheets. "Gee, how confusing," he mumbles. His fingers reach out and brush the small of her back. "Why would they think that?"

"Not like this," Lilly says, rolling her eyes at him. "They think we're... _not_ sleeping."

Scotty grins into his pillow, and Lilly punches him as soon as she senses it. "It's not funny," she says.

"It's because you're feelin' better," Scotty says. "It's because everything is gettin' back to normal. People don't feel bad when it comes to spreadin' gossip about you now."

Lilly laces her hands over her chest and stares up at the ceiling. "I don't really care," she says softly.

Scotty reaches over and takes her hand without looking up from where he's snuggled into the pillows. He squeezes her fingers gently. "There are worse things to face," he agrees.

She looks over at him, at the line of him in her bed, his back rising and falling as he breathes. "Yeah," she says. "It could be worse."

xXx

Lilly remembers the way Scotty sent shivers up her spine the night they went to collect John Smith. She remembers telling herself she was exhausted, and that was why she felt the electric charge between them.

She's not so sure now, because it's still there. It's more frequent now, and she supposes it's because he's always there, and he's in her bed, of all places, and even though they haven't done what everyone else thinks they've done, the thought has occurred to her.

It's occurred to Scotty too, and he forces it back, because no matter how he felt when she was missing, it's not appropriate now.

But he lies awake sometimes and he remembers how much his throat ached and how sick his stomach felt when he thought Lil had been taken away from him forever, and he wonders if it's just the situation that's causing him to feel something deeper now, or if it's something that's always been there between them.

xXx

Scotty kisses Lilly one night when they're both near to sleep. He presses his mouth softly against hers and she shifts closer to him and hooks her finger under the collar of his t-shirt.

He whispers his secrets to her in the dark. "I'd never been so scared," he tells her. "Thought I'd lost you."

She clings to him and she tries not to fall back into the memories of fear and loneliness. She wants to forget the bunker and everything that comes with it.

Scotty is like an anchor, but somehow he causes her to float instead. She can breathe.

"This is almost expected," she whispers, sliding her leg over his hip.

"Partners," he says, his voice soft and low in the dark. He kisses her again, his hands warm as they ride the soft material of her shirt up her skin. "Through all this, Lil, through all this shit, some things just ain't ever gonna change."

She puts her arms around him, and her heart is drumming because it's a big leap they're about to take together and she doesn't want to wake up with regrets and shifted perceptions. "Some things won't ever change," she whispers back in agreement.

Old Lilly felt the electrical pull to Scotty Valens. New Lilly feels it too, and she knows it was him that pulled her through the dark, that scattered the nightmares, that kept her anchored and afloat.

John Smith is still in her ear. Not silent yet. Still there. He tells her. "I'm still here," he says.

Lilly closes her eyes and buries her face against Scotty's neck. _I don't care,_ she thinks, _because Scotty is still here as well._

xXx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read - especially those of you who reviewed :) It was wonderfully encouraging to have such support during my first major Cold Case fic!


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